


A Few More Delusions

by Malice_and_Macarons



Series: Delusions [2]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: AU, Bioshock - Freeform, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gay Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shameless Shipping, Side Story, Smut, Some Fluff, Somehow Jeremy is STILL a prick, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, just for fun, list goes on, mild gore and horror themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 63,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9862694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malice_and_Macarons/pseuds/Malice_and_Macarons
Summary: Side stories, AU's, what ifs, smut and other story snippets that never got put into Delusion Tax.





	1. Wants Me Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Hot dignity damn, Delusion Tax is almost over. But over the god damn year I've worked on it, there's been a few things that got written that were not put into the story for...very obvious reasons. This is where they have come to die. It goes without saying that these will not be considered cannon to the story unless stated otherwise.  
> There'll be some smut, at least one au, a few other little stories and maybe some scribbles here and there.  
> Just um...yeah, enjoy the trash I guess.

_Rough Timeline relation – Living at Waylon’s home. Pre chapter 13_

 

...  
...

 

Park's house was painfully quaint. After a near month of living in its walls Jeremy ought to have acclimatized but each and every day he was taken aback by just how quaint it really was.

It wasn't the house itself exactly that gave off that agonizingly charming feeling of homeliness. No, it was the fact it was so lived in that had Jeremy baffled. It was the little things that he hadn't noticed in the first few days that now stuck out at him. At first it had been the clamor, the toys left around by the boys. The photos that took up every available space and wall. Right down to the distinct smell of each room. Jeremy hadn't noticed that first night he snuck in, how could he be expected to notice that Waylon and Lisa's room smelt of clean sheets and light perfumes when compared to somewhere like the boy's room – something distinctly electrical and grassy from the dirt the boys brought in from the garden.

Now that he had noticed, Jeremy couldn't seem to stop focusing on it. Each room had a particular feel. It belonged to the person who lived in it most and if it was shared by the house then it felt like its purpose. The living room was bright, lively, inviting. The kitchen – when kept tidy by him no less –  _felt_  clean.

Jeremy thought this was all very unusual. He'd lived in his family home for all his childhood and never noticed any difference between any given room in the house. They all felt the same, even his own room had that same feel to it. Nothing stuck out, it was all uniform. So to suddenly be in a house where the mood and tone could flip on its head just by passing through one doorway, well it was all rather overwhelming.

That was why he currently sat in his borrowed room. Taking a moment to just appreciate the quiet of his room. There was nothing that stuck out in particular in this room. It was unused before he arrived according to Waylon, so that left it without the marks of another person. Jeremy felt like he could breath again when he sat on this borrowed bed. He imagined that if he'd sat on any other bed in the house the sheer force of the sense of 'trespassing' would have chased him off in an instant.

Today had been a long one and Jeremy needed this break. The boys had been relentless in their nagging. Wanting to rush off to some playground down the road. Jeremy knew he couldn't do that, even if Lisa wasn't liable to shank him for it, the idea that Murkoff was around every corner hadn't worn off yet. He'd had to barter with them, chocolates and a movie just a little too mature for them had done the trick.

Actually now he thought about it, Lisa might still shank him for that.

With a tired sigh Jeremy fell back flat onto his borrowed bed that was rapidly becoming  _his_  inside his own head. God his body hurt. It was not like the terrible agony he'd been in months earlier, it was more of a deep set aching. The sign of a day spent hoisting kids up where he'd never had to lift anything heavier than a paper weight before. A day spent racing after Jackie to stop him from doing something colossally stupid like trying to juggle knives. Which Jeremy himself might have inadvertently put into the kid's head. He didn't think he'd actually try it.

He'd underestimated the boy's determination and ego. Never again.

The ache in his bones wasn't actually awful. He wished it didn't exist but thinking about what caused it brought Jeremy some satisfaction. Especially when he compared it to other pains he'd felt. Far worse pains.

Although he doubted that he'd be able to get any sleep. Certainly not enough to help chase off lingering soreness. Tiredly Jeremy stared at the ceiling, glowering as the irritation thought crossed his mind. There was no way he would get a good night's rest. Not when he knew all that waited beyond his eyelids was nightmares.

They'd been getting worse as of late. He'd actually screamed when he woke up, loud enough that he'd scared Waylon awake. The man thought he was so sly, checking in on him once he thought Jeremy was asleep again. Of course he wasn't bloody asleep, not after screaming bloody murder thinking his neck had just been slit open.

It irritated Jeremy that Waylon had checked on him at all. Like he cared about a man like Blaire.

That was…impossible.

Trying to will away uncomfortable thoughts, Jeremy closed his eyes. If he couldn't sleep he could at least rest them, try to fight off the sting of dry eyes. He must have only been laying there for a few minutes, that was all it felt like but when he opened his eyes next all the light was gone from the room. The sudden change in time startled Jeremy, he'd only closed his eyes for a moment but it looked like he'd lost the last of the daylight.

Confused and groggy Jeremy tried to move, to sit up and see what the time was. It was only when he felt the weight of his own body and the lingering aches and pains that it occurred to him that he hadn't dreamt. If hours really had passed…he must have slept and he didn't recall any nightmares. This was as exhilarating as it was confusing. Jeremy wasn't sure he was ready to just accept this.

Most good things came with a hefty price tag.

Blearily Jeremy glanced towards the window. As expected it was dark outside, he could even see the light of the moon somewhere up above. That was fine, but what took a moment to settle into his head and a few more seconds to make sense was the fact the window was actually  _open_.

Confused Jeremy tried to remember opening it or if he'd seen that it was open earlier. No, he definitely remembered it being shut. He didn't think it was like Waylon or Lisa to come open it when he was asleep. Certainly not on a night like this, the air was chilly and now that he'd noticed the open window, he felt the draft that came with it. The temperature of the room was uncomfortably low and Jeremy mumbled a low curse under his breath as he hoisted himself up off the bed.

It was going to take ages to get the room warm again, but he could start by closing the window.

"Who the actual fuck…" Jeremy snarled letting the thought die away as he pulled the window shut roughly. He flinched as it slammed against the wooden frame and for a second wondered if he might accidentally wake up the Parks. Unlikely, only one of his screams had ever stirred Waylon and there'd been plenty more than one those past few weeks.

With the window shut Jeremy thought he should give sleep another go. But his legs didn't turn to pull him back to the bed, instead he stayed put staring at his hands on the window for a moment longer.

It didn't make sense. He was puzzled by this window being open. Normally this wouldn't be enough to ward him off going back to bed, but tonight the thought wouldn't leave his head. He just kept staring at his hands, wondering what it was that he was missing.

Slowly but surely it settled in. The realization that the prickling at the back of his mind wasn't just confusion, but fear. Something had spooked him and Jeremy barely even noticed it.

Then Jeremy knew.

He pinpointed what was wrong. His room had changed. His room didn't feel like it had when he want to sleep. There was something new here. Something familiar.

It happened quickly, but didn't things always when Jeremy wasn't prepared? The sudden strike from behind forced Jeremy up against the wall, chest flat against the window he'd just closed as a set of cold hands pulled his arm up against his back, using it to press him more harshly against the solid surface of the glass.

Jeremy winced, a cry of alarm being knocked out of him as he was winded. The icy temperature of the window a near match for the hands that kept his wrist jammed up against his spine – too high to not be painful but not yet high enough to pop anything out of place.  _Yet_.

He'd been found.

The thought only just clicked into place as Jeremy felt something smooth slide along his neck. Instinctively he tensed, knowing exactly what it was without having to look down. He knew that if he budged so much as an inch, that knife might just draw blood.

"Look at that." The familiar voice hummed next to his ear. "You're so well trained, Mr. Blaire. Now, if I'd done that a few months ago you would have struggled. Look at you now. Perfectly well behaved."

" _How_?" Jeremy ground out past clenched teeth, too afraid to even take a deep breath least that knife pull up against his throat a little tighter.

"How?" Sinclair purred, tone nothing but viciously smug as he cornered Blaire. "How did I find you? Oh, Mr. Blaire. Didn't I tell you time and time again?" The knife pressed in a little deeper and Jeremy stopped breathing. "I'm not ever letting you go."

Jeremy felt cold dread pooling into his stomach. He could imagine it now, that little shack room and musty old mattress. The ropes, the hammer – all of it coming back. He was going to die this time. This time Sinclair was going to cut off his legs, make sure he cold never run this distance again. He knew it, he knew it—

"Now, you and I are going to have a little chat about your behaviour and then we're going home." Sinclair told him in a voice that was almost reasonable. Were it not for the knife and the hiss behind the man's words – he might have even sounded sane. "I really don't know what got into your head, thinking you could just…"

Sinclair stopped.

The sudden halt to his usually endless stream of speaking alarmed Jeremy. What now? Was he going to start early, break something even while under Waylon's roof? Jeremy wanted to squirm, wanted to scream – anything to get some attention but not a single sound left his mouth. He couldn't seem to even twitch, body locked up in some desperate attempt to avoid the pain that was definitely be coming its way.

Shifting behind Jeremy as if to better situate himself, Sinclair let out a soft sound of puzzlement. Jeremy made a choked sound of pain as Sinclair's movements forced his arm high up along his back. If Sinclair noticed or thought anything of the pained sound he did nothing to alleviate Jeremy's discomfort, instead the knife he'd pressed against Jeremy's neck began to idly drag up and down his throat, as if the man was just toiling time away while thinking.

Then finally he spoke again; it was not what Jeremy expected.

"You know, Mr. Blaire, I always imagined you'd sleep in your suit." He mused and Jeremy's mind went completely silent. Not sure what to make of that comment and now acutely aware of just how little he actually was wearing. Lucky him it wasn't the state of complete undress he'd slept in back when he was on top of the world. "Silly isn't it? The thoughts of a terrified man." Sinclair continued, chuckling lowly as though he truly did find it to be very funny.

Jeremy hissed sharply as the man's knife left his throat and drifted lazily across his chest. In that moment he dearly wished he had worn all the clothes Sinclair thought he would have to bed.

Sinclair was still thinking about something. Jeremy couldn't move at all, but he knew if he'd looked back he'd see the blonde's face pinched into that look of deep contemplation. Then the knife paused and Jeremy's breath hitched. Of all the places to linger, he had to…

"This would be too cruel wouldn't it?" Sinclair pondered aloud, voice twisted with an unspoken glee as the thought bounced around his head. The knife lingering pointedly above Jeremy's crotch. "Oh, you might never forgive me if I broke this part of you." Then just to prove his point Sinclair laid the flat side of the blade against Jeremy's groin and the man let out a shameless yelp of panic.

Part of him wildly rallied against this, frantically thought over and over again that Sinclair wouldn't. Surely even he had some boundaries, some sense of mercy to not go that far. He'd scarred Jeremy before, left marks on him – but this? This was…

"Don't." Jeremy bit out, just able to feel his body shivering. He was sure he'd broken out in a cold sweat but he couldn't seem to feel anything but that the pressure of the knife. Separated from his skin only by the thin material of his pants. "Sinclair,  _don't_."

"Hmm." The disapproval in the hum sent Jeremy's heart racing. "That doesn't sound much like a please to me."

It took longer than it should have. Just forcing the words out felt like driving nails through fingers. But then again, he imagined the actual pain of what might happen if he didn't would be far worse. "Sinclair…please stop." He eventually managed to hiss out and Jeremy could actually feel the man's satisfaction.

He felt it in the way the knife moved away from his body and the rough grasp on his wrist softened. For a moment he was at a loss, not sure if he was willing to believe that Sinclair was backing off fully just because he'd asked  _nicely_. Then the knife returned, back up to his throat along with a new order.

"You're not going to move are you?" Sinclair asked brightly, and Jeremy scowled at him from the corner of his eye. He knew damn well he wasn't going anywhere with Sinclair so fucking close and in possession of a knife. His stony silence must have been answer enough because Sinclair laughed and released his wrist entirely. "There's a good boy."

He didn't even have time to register relief before horror came barreling back in. Jeremy jumped, a cry of alarm catching in his throat as Sinclair's icy fingers dipped bellow the elastic of his pants, freezing the skin they touched. His mind reeled, falling back against too many confused thoughts to muster up even one coherent enough to explain what was happening.

A small reminder to keep his body in line came as the knife pressed against his neck. Digging deep enough to pull a small line of blood from under his skin, Jeremy shuddered as it slipped down his throat. Hot at first but turning cold in a matter of seconds. All the while the only other thing he could focus on was Sinclair's cold fingers pushing his only coverage down and out of the way.

"Wha…What are you doing?" He knew. Of course he bloody, fucking knew, but his mind was refusing to process this information. Because it was Sinclair, because this had just never occurred to him.

It  _hadn't_. He insisted in his own head. A thought like this had never crossed his mind, not once, not even for a second. Jeremy absolutely refused to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, in the briefest moments his mind might have. What was worse was the fact that those cold hands felt exactly how he thought they would. Firm enough to hold him together, and perfectly capable of pulling him apart.

Sinclair didn't answer him, instead he seemed to focus on this new line of thought, his hand curious more than anything else as it brushed over his skin. Occasionally Jeremy heard the man mumbling something to himself, sometimes a murmur of appreciation. He'd patched up nearly every part of Jeremy, but there were still places he hadn't seen yet. Now his hand was roaming freely along the inside of his thighs and Jeremy didn't think he'd ever felt so helpless than he did in that moment.

"Hush." Sinclair demanded and Jeremy only became aware of his own quiet noises of discomfort after being told to be silent. "Don't whine now." Sinclair continued and Jeremy could feel the man smiling against his bare shoulder. He let out a soft sound of satisfaction that had Jeremy giving a full body shudder. "You're so warm, for a man that crawled his way right out of hell I expected you to be colder."

"T-That's rich." Jeremy gasped out, unable to help himself. "Coming from the walking iceman."

"Cute." Jeremy hissed as Sinclair's teeth sank into his shoulder. He would have expected the bite to be more vicious; to draw blood but it was little more than a warning nip. If he'd been cruel with his bite it might have been less agonizing. But now suddenly it was all gentle.

The knife at his neck hovered a small distance away, pulling no more blood. The teeth that had seconds earlier forced down against his shoulder were replaced with little more than a smile being pressed against his skin. Even the invading hand wasn't rough in his handling.

If anything it was…

"Why don't you just do it?" Jeremy snarled, regretting the words the moment he said them. He wished he could pull them back, somehow take them away before Sinclair noticed his frustration. But it was too late now and Jeremy felt the man's mouth twitch up into a smirk against his shoulder.

"Why, Jeremy." Sinclair chuckled. "Anyone would think you're asking for more."

"As if, you sick fucking freak." Gritting his teeth Jeremy forced his eyes away from Sinclair. Difficult when he could see the man's smirk through the reflection of the window.

Cursing quietly Jeremy tried not to focus on how his body twitched and burned wherever Sinclair's fingers would rest. Tried not to think about how close they were to actually touching him properly. So close but…damn it was he  _teasing_?

"No, no. None of that" Sinclair chided quietly, feeling Jeremy's frustration as he muscles bound up tight. Feeling Jeremy's urge to start fighting again before the man even had the chance to give it a shot.

When his hand finally stopped tormenting Jeremy he damn near went weak in the knees. Sinclair finally enclosed his scarred hand around Jeremy's cock, only to laugh in disbelief when he found the man already half hard under his fingers. "Oh you little  _liar_." Sinclair breathed gleefully. His fingers were less gentle now, rubbing harder as the body under him quivered and a groan that Jeremy tried to strangle managed to slip out.

"More of that. More of those sounds." Sinclair demanded tone near feverish, and Jeremy barely even registered the sound of the knife being dropped, clattering to the floor. It only dawned on him that Sinclair had abandoned his weapon when the man's fingers urged his head up, leaving his throat exposed and making it difficult to keep all those little sounds smothered. "You're so mouthy all the time, don't be silent now." Sinclair groused, teeth gliding across his exposed throat as a warning. Jeremy was suddenly stubbornly silent and that just wasn't going to do. "Have you forgotten your position? If I tell you to be quiet you don't say a word. I tell you to make sound then I had better hear some wonderful noises coming out of those lips. If I tell you to be a good boy and cum—"

He came out of his thoughts as he heard Jeremy's breath hitch, felt his body moving, seeming to try and buck into the inviting palm, and the blonde stared in disbelief and just a bit of confusion. Then slowly his expression broke down into a wicked sneer at understanding washed over him. "Oh, it's like that is it?" He whispered, voice a mix of mocking and tenderness, it all went straight down to Jeremy's cock and Sinclair chuckled, feeling the man shaking under his hold. "You like that?"

"Please." Jeremy gasped, barely recognizing his own breathless voice. But god did he need this, he didn't care how wrecked his voice sounded, so long as he got what he wanted. "Please just say… _ah!"_ His hips stuttered forward, not ready for how Sinclair's fingers tightened around him. God he wished it would hurt; if it hurt maybe he could pull basic common sense back into his head. If it stayed this gentle Jeremy was liable to forget exactly which version of Sinclair he was with.

"What is it you want to hear, Jeremy?" Sinclair…or was it Sebastian now – cooed wickedly against the back of his neck. "Do you want to hear filth coming out of my mouth? Do you want me to tell you what I want to do to you? Would it undo you if I just said I wanted to fuck you?" And god, if hearing that simple word falling out of Sebastian's usually sweet tongue wasn't the most wonderful thing he'd ever heard.

Sebastian felt Jeremy's body shivering against him, the violent shudder a perfect tell for what he wanted. He barely even needed the words and Jeremy couldn't tell if he hated Sebastian for the horrible little things he whispered to him, or if he loved him for it.

"Could have done this to you so many times already. I could have had you while you were tied down on that filthy bed. Oh, you would have complained, but that's just like you isn't it? Can't let anyone know you  _want_  something, so I have to take it from you." Jeremy was only just listening, finding it difficult to hear anything beyond the roaring in his head from lack of oxygen and the fingers that continued to pull up and down his shaft, keeping him trapped with barely any effort at all. "Enjoying that thought, Jeremy? Imagine that, the great Jeremy Blaire practically begging to be forced down – how depraved can you be, love?"

The answer was in his body. The way he twisted and writhed against Sinclair's hands, but didn't once try to pull them away. Even as his fingers loosely curled around the man's wrist, he didn't even try to pull Sebastian's hands off of his body. If it stopped now Jeremy was sure he might actually lose what was left of his mind.

"Tell me." Sinclair demanded in a hushed voice. It settled deep into Jeremy's stomach, a low burn he couldn't ignore, tightening the coil that was gradually knotting up inside of him. It sounded like Sebastian's amused voice, lacking the expected scorn. "Tell me what you want, Jeremy. I won't even make you beg, love. Just tell me."

Despite himself, the words came out. Choked and barely more than a whisper – but they got out all the same. "I want…" He gulped, body shaking as what was left of his mind wondered if he was really going to say it. He did. "…I want you to fuck me."

The answer was not the one he wanted. "Maybe next time." Sinclair hummed cheerfully, his attentions focused on pulling Jeremy apart, forcing him over the cliff he was rapidly approaching. He was being spoiled and he loved it. Jeremy groaned, wishing the sound was a snarl, but he knew better than to snap at Sinclair when the man's fingers lingered around his throat.

But he was rewarded. Sebastian always did reward him and punish him in equal measure. Jeremy swore he saw stars for a moment, having nearly forgotten what it felt like to come apart under someone's hands. Even when he'd still been in control of his life, this sort of indulgence was a rarity, especially at the hands of someone else. He'd never not been in control, but now he had no choice but to melt into the hands that held him as they brought him to his limit.

With that, he came with a sharp intake of breath and a barely contained whimper. A sound that no doubt Sebastian heard and loved much to Jeremy's mortification. But that could wait, there was no room for any other thoughts in his head except how good it felt to just for a moment see nothing but white. Even as overstimulation began to set in and Jeremy's quiet sounds of contentment turned to near whines and complaints, he wasn't quite all there again.

Finally he was released. And Jeremy cringed as he felt the damp patch of his pants without Sebastian's hand there any longer. As much freedom as the blonde was willing to give him in that moment, his hands back was not among those liberties. Instead they were drawn behind his back again, not rough in their handling this time. Hell if he tried Jeremy was sure he could have easily broken away from the loose, one handed grasp Sebastian held them in.

He didn't try.

Then slowly it all faded. He calmed back down and what was close to some sense of reality came back to him. With it came clarity and a sinking understanding.

"This isn't real." Jeremy whispered, the realization washing over him. It was sobering and in that moment he couldn't tell if it was better this way or not. "I'm…you're  _not_  Sebastian. You're not real."

The nightmare grinned at him and Jeremy's blood ran cold again. The fear returning. Of course this wasn't real. When was the last time he had slept without nightmares? This was just…a new one for him. The not actually Sebastian wound his arms around Jeremy's torso, unconcerned by how tense his partner was.

"Of course not." He whispered viciously. His fingers sliding up to violently jerk Jeremy's chip upwards, looking as though he'd like nothing more than to break that little neck. "When I find you I'm going to rip your throat out. You think he'll be this forgiving when he finds you Mr. Blaire? Oh sweet thing, you'll be lucky if he lets you die quickly."

Then something in the nightmare's eyes sparked. Something cold and cruel, something that nearly reflected Jeremy's former self back to him. Something devoid of compassion of any kind. "You didn't think….oh darling, you didn't really believe he'd do  _this_? With  _you_?"

The nightmare barked a laugh that sounded nothing like Sebastian. "Poor delusional little thing." Pulling Jeremy's head back further, this time with fingers in his hair, the nightmare spoke in a low snarl against Jeremy's ear. "He wants you dead."

He's had enough now.

When the nightmare does end, Jeremy doesn't scream. That must have been a first.

Rather than jerking awake, frantic and expecting the walls of the asylum to be surrounding him. Jeremy comes back to the real world feeling hollowed out, a deep set terror in his bones that wasn't going to leave for days. He would have traded it for the usual brand of feverish panic in a second, anything to somehow wash away the thoughts in his head.

Because his nightmares had always been painful, but they'd never been quite so cruel before. He spent that night awake, wondering which bones Sebastian would start with if he ever did find him. He wondered idly if when Sebastian did come across him, would the memory of that nightmare come back to him?

No. Jeremy would rather Sebastian just end his life. Keep it clean, nothing but blades, blood and broken bones. Nothing tender, nothing that might feel like a gentle touch.

Better he never know.


	2. The Realisation (A shit post)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone had to say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for this.

“Hey.” Sebastian glanced up from his cup of tea. Jeremy was staring. Not at anything in particular, in fact it seemed like he’d just stopped mid movement and stared staring into space. The only thing in front of him was a blank white wall and Sebastian had to wonder what exactly he was doing.

He waited, expecting Jeremy to continue, something about his tone making Sebastian a little unsettled. That was very abrupt of him. But Jeremy did not continue for quite some time so slowly Sebastian lowered his cup. “Yes?” He prompted with a puzzled frown.

Then suddenly Jeremy moved, hands slamming down on the table right in front of Sebastian with such speed and violence that the blond man jumped with a shout of alarm. Spilling his tea. Jeremy stared at Sebastian, eyes wide as though he had somehow just uncovered the secret of the universe and Sebastian had to wonder if he’d somehow found a way to get his hands on some drugs. He certainly had a ready supply of them back in the day.

“I just realised something.” Jeremy said seriously, deadly serious. Too serious. What the hell? “We are fucked up.” He concluded and Sebastian just kinda looked at him like….well yes?

Clearly? 

“As in, _really_ fucked up.” He stressed, not clocking Sebastian’s stare at all. “Like…is this healthy? This isn’t healthy. I’ve killed half the people I ever employed--”

“You most certainly did not.”

“—and you’re like a freak of nature that’s only half there in the head, and the other half wants to stab me to death every other hour.”

“Jeremy have you been drinking?”

“No, no, yes all morning, no, hear me out here. This whole thing is crazy unhealthy isn’t it? Like I’m clearly manipulating you, you’re blackmailing me – we’re all fucking the Parks over with their generosity and shit and don’t even get me started on the emotional baggage going on here. But somehow, _somehow,_ for some unholy reason we are currently living together drinking tea and shit.” Jeremy continued, beginning to make some bizarre hand gestures, looking more and more befuddled with every word.

“Are you done yet?” Sebastian asked flatly.

“Does this look like the face of a man who is done to you?” Unfortunately… “And can we just touch on all the different levels of fucked up Stockholm Syndrome is? Oh yes, this relationship is definitely the pinnacle of balanced. Not even a tiny bit abusive, not at all.”

Sebastian was getting a headache, pinching the bridge of his nose didn’t help the problem. “I’m starting to feel the abuse now.” He muttered grimly but Jeremy only slammed his hands back down on the table, shouting. If he wasn’t drunk or high Sebastian hoped that he was, at least then there would be some excuse for this.

“How the _fuck_ does this relationship function?" 

“It doesn’t!” Sebastian snapped back angrily.

“Then why the fuck are we still here, why do I still want to drink your shitty coffee and look at your stupid face!?”

“Why are you asking me? I don’t understand this shit either, Jeremy!”

“ _FUCK!_ ”

 


	3. Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the usual AU, Bioshock will be out later this week. 
> 
> For now lets have some lighter stuff to make up for all the torture going on in Bioshock.

_Rough Timeline relation – Living at Waylon's home. Post chapter 13_

…  
…

"You know." Sebastian commented over his cup of hot chocolate one morning. "I didn't think you'd start avoiding me."

He wouldn't have had the spine to say something like that if Waylon was around. But as it was the owner of the house was blessedly absent from the room. Leaving Sebastian free to express himself naturally. It would never cease to irritate and amaze Jeremy in equal measure just how effortlessly Sebastian smothered his nastier qualities whenever someone else was within earshot.

Given that he was free to speak whatever part of his mind he liked, Jeremy was a little surprised by what part of his mind he chose to express. Not sure what to make of the accusation Jeremy glanced over his shoulder at the seated man with a little questioning scowl. He didn't need to say it; his expression was more than enough to ask what the hell Sinclair was talking about.

Sebastian for his part looked incredibly comfortable. As though he'd somehow managed to catch Jeremy in the act of lying. "You have been, haven't you?" He pressed on, ignoring Jeremy's glaring. "Ever since we had that little…chat on the balcony you've been putting some good space between us."

"Oh, because that's so unreasonable." Jeremy bit out sharply, eyes tossing more than his own fair share of accusations. "Given you nearly toppled me off it."

Humming quietly in acknowledgement, Sebastian merely continued to smile and that infuriated Jeremy. He could at least  _pretend_  to be guilty for that, although the act would have sent shivers of disgust up his spine. Jeremy rather disliked Sebastian pretended to be saintly when he was anything but now days. With a lazy shrug Sebastian sat back into his seat, the steaming cup grasped between his fingers.

Although Jeremy noticed that he couldn't hold it for long with his left hand. Risking a glance he saw that the heated surface of the mug had inflamed his burns. The blonde didn't draw any attention to this, pretending he was unbothered by it. "True but avoiding me seems a bit unlike you." Sebastian pointed out, dragging Jeremy's attention away from the scarred hands. "And given the amount of time we lived together—

"In captivity"

"—I never noticed you putting distance between us before." Sebastian shot him a warning look in the middle of his sentence. He wasn't about to argue the point, knowing full well that in this case Jeremy had the moral high ground – oh hell must have just frozen over – but he wasn't above scowling at the man for reminding him.

"There was not much room to take anyway." Jeremy groused and turned his back on the other, something that he'd gradually gotten used to doing once again. Today it was a mistake. He heard the chair being pushed back but he didn't realise how close Sebastian had gotten until the man's fingers brushed his arm.

Tensing in alarm Jeremy felt his breath catch for a second, a flood of unpleasant memories accosting him. He nearly expected the scissors to come back. Instead what he got was a slightly irritated Sebastian. "Honestly now, Blaire." He muttered, not bothering to cover up his frustration. "Isn't it too early in the morning for you to be this difficult? I'm only asking for a little clarity."

Gritting his teeth Jeremy was just able to stop himself from stabbing Sinclair with the fork he had in hand. But he made absolutely no attempts to stop himself from turning and jamming his hand against the blonde's shoulder as hard as he physically could. It was satisfying to see it actually hurt Sebastian a bit; he hadn't been strong enough to do that for months.

Stumbling back a few steps Sebastian looked more surprised than he was angry. That could change quickly and so Jeremy used the brief moment of silence he was given to snap at the man. "You can damn well ask for whatever you want – doesn't mean I'm going to give you squat."

Rubbing his shoulder Sebastian looked at Jeremy sourly. "You're being particularly prickly this morning." Sebastian muttered under his breath, looking at him with that expression that suggested Jeremy was the unreasonable one.

He just wanted his poverty coffee for god's sake. He didn't need this shit from Sebastian in the morning, or at all for that matter. "Mind your own damn business." Was what he eventually settled on, fingers pulling his sleeve down further over his arm.

For once Sebastian listened to him. But throughout the day Jeremy could feel Sebastian's eyes lingering on him, trying to figure out what Jeremy wouldn't tell him. He did his best to ignore that constant observation, trying to focus on the games Jackie wanted to play and the ways he got out of actually playing them.

Somehow he didn't think the whole 'you go hide and I'll come find you….eventually' trick was going to cut it anymore.

Jackie might be a rowdy kid but he was by no means stupid and so Jeremy had to keep coming up with new ways to avoid physical labor in their games. Noel was so much easier, happy to just sit and draw or play with simple toys. Usually Jeremy could count on the younger boy to provide an activity that was easy to navigate – although Jackie was never as happy as when they got to play physical games. Jeremy resolved to pull out the golf clubs again, that usually fired up Jackie's need to garner praise and prove his skills.

He almost forgot about his watcher throughout the day but Jeremy would occasionally catch the man's mismatched gaze and be reminded once again. He couldn't very well just let the subject drop could he? No, he had to keep  _staring_  at Jeremy.

Sebastian was still watching Jeremy and the kids when a cup was set down in front of him. He startled, not having heard Waylon coming to sit by him. Immediately he warmed his face into a smile, uttering a thank you for the drink. The pair spoke briefly about Riley, the poor hung-over man, and then turned their attentions on the kids. Sebastian felt very domestic, sitting with a cup of tea watching the kids play in the yard. Wasn't even his family and he managed to feel like something out of a white picket fence family film.

Then again…at least one of those kids could be called his.

The thought made Sebastian's smile a little more malicious than it should ever be with Waylon in close proximity. But watching Jeremy struggle his way around the two young boys was more entertaining than he could say.

His kid just happened to be the bratty one.

"It's weird that he's so tolerant of the boys." Sebastian commented idly. "Can't stand me…" He realised a moment too late what he'd said and hurried to take it back, to cover the comment up, but Waylon didn't seem to understand the barely concealed implication at all.

"Well he's not the nicest guy." Waylon shrugged absentmindedly before adding with a nearly impish smile. "And he's never liked  _us_  very much."

Deciding it was okay to push his luck to see if he could get an answer from Waylon somehow, Sebastian tried prying for more information. "He seems more at ease with you around. But whenever I'm in the room…"

Waylon tossed him a look that almost had the blonde rolling his eyes in reply. "You did chase him all around that asylum." He reminded, as if Sebastian could forget. "He's just getting used to you."

Right, Sebastian thought bitterly. Waylon didn't know he'd had more than enough time to acclimatize to Sebastian. That wasn't the reason; there was something else that Jeremy wasn't telling him. Even when they'd been back at the shack, Jeremy had never purposefully avoided him like this. What changed? What the hell didn't he know…?

Not knowing was going to drive him right back into insanity.

"You should just talk to him about it." Waylon suggested, as though that hadn't already been tried.

"And how do you propose I ask  _Jeremy Blaire_  anything without just getting sworn at and kicked out of the house?" Sebastian inquired miserably.

Thinking Sebastian was just depressed that Jeremy was being so unfriendly; Waylon offered him a consoling pat and then said something that in any other scenario would have been perfectly fine. "Well he's much more agreeable at night after a drink or two." Sebastian's interest was piqued. "Ask him then, he might not be nice about it, but I think he'll at least be honest."

Well…now there was an idea.

Sebastian did as Waylon suggested and pulled back for the rest of the day.

Instead he spent time around the house, cleaning what Waylon couldn't persuade him not to and checking on his brother every once in a while. Now that he wasn't focusing too intently on Blaire, time moved more quickly. Before long the sun was setting and Waylon was asking if they wanted to stay another night – Sebastian agreed more quickly than he ought to have.

Dinner was a pretty normal affair, although it seemed Lisa had decided that if the house was going to be as full as it was, she was pulling out all the stops. Which would have been fine, except she was a rather chaotic cook and watching her make a mess of the kitchen was nearly more than Sebastian could stand.

The distress must have shown on his face because he caught Jeremy snickering in his direction once or twice.

But ultimately the food was saved by Waylon's attentive care and with some efforts made to not look at the monstrous condition of the kitchen; they were able to eat in peace.

The boys did most of the talking; leaving little room for any awkward pauses and Sebastian was content to chat along. But he was keeping an eye on Jeremy again. Waylon remembered their earlier conversation and broke out something that looked about as expensive as they could afford. Still too cheap for Jeremy's tastes but he took it all the same.

Knowing what he did about Jeremy, Sebastian was unsurprised that he drank a lot and did not seem the slightest bit inebriated as a result. That was fine; the goal was not drunkenness – just something to take the lethal edge off of the man's temper.

Finally it seemed to work. Jeremy was less tense. He spoke a little more freely and whenever Jackie said something he was particularly fond of, Jeremy had no reservations giving the boy an approving word and ruffling the boy's hair. This display of how secure Jeremy felt was nearly enough to have Sebastian forgetting he had questions in the first place but…whenever Jeremy glanced his way that relaxation would leave his eyes and he'd be back to glaring.

Something had to be done about this.

Once dinner concluded Lisa had no choice but to let Sebastian help her clean up. It was clear he'd go mad otherwise.

It was while he was desperately trying to scrape away something that she'd managed to burn onto the table that Sebastian caught Jeremy telling Waylon he was going to bed. That was…a bit of a problem. Sebastian grimaced but did not stop the job at hand. He hadn't wanted to corner Jeremy in any way, but he needed this sorted before the night was out.

Once the kitchen was in a notably less horrendous condition, but still in desperate need of saving, Sebastian made himself an excuse. An excuse that Lisa took with an alarming amount of ease, she didn't even seem surprised and Sebastian wondered if Waylon had told her something.

Making his way upstairs, Sebastian hesitated outside of Jeremy's room for a second. He knew that if he knocked he'd be turned away but every single cell in his body screamed in protest when he didn't. Honestly, being rude shouldn't even be a problem for him anymore. But his mind still reeled in disgust when he did not announce his intentions to enter the room.

Forcing the thought aside, Sebastian pushed the door open, words already on the tip of his tongue. Each one died there before he could say them when he made the incredibly poor choice of walking in when Jeremy was half out of his shirt.

Nothing he hadn't seen before but Sebastian's body still went tense, an overwhelming sense of intruding flooding him. He was mortified, feeling every bit the voyeur, but he didn't move.

Which was definitely a mistake because Jeremy just so happened to turn and catch him there.

 _Oooh boy_ —

"The hell are you doing!" Jeremy shrieked. There was no other word for it and while Sebastian did try to explain himself, Jeremy didn't actually stop to hear it. Instead he grabbed the first thing available to him and tossed it at the startled blonde. That thing just so happened to be a lamp.

His initial reaction was to dodge but the risk of the thing breaking was enough to keep Sebastian in place. He tried to catch the lamp but fumbled with it, the impact knocking the air out of his chest.

"Jeremy, wait a second!" Sebastian tried to stop the man from throwing something else, stumbling to set down the lamp and lift his hands in a sign of surrender. "I-…just calm down for a moment."

"This is my room." Jeremy snarled and Sebastian saw he had a book in hand now, looking only seconds away from throwing that as well. "You're not supposed to be in  _my_  room."

Recognizing the delicate line he was currently stepping on, Sebastian kept his hands up and tried to pacify Jeremy before anything else. "I know." He stressed the words, speaking slowly, eyes on Jeremy's face for any warning that he was about to throw that book. "I know it's your room I…I just wanted to talk. That's all."

He was begging Jeremy to calm down with his eyes, watching for anything that might give him some sign that he was in the clear. Jeremy was still scowling at him but slowly his arm dropped, the book being lowered and Sebastian could relax just a little bit. With a deep breath Sebastian straightened up, but didn't dare lower his hands or step further into the room. Not yet.

"What do you want?" Jeremy huffed, still watching Sebastian with distrustful eyes. Fair enough.

"Just to talk. That's all." He repeated and watched as Jeremy mulled this over for a while for a few seconds. He knew the moment he was in the clear because Jeremy turned away from him with a small growl under his breath.

Now free to enter the room Sebastian carefully closed the door behind him, relieved that it didn't seem anyone else had heard the commotion. Once the door clicked Sebastian glanced back to Jeremy, taking note of how ridged his stance was.

Part of him felt bad now for not knocking in the first place, but he was in and so he couldn't feel all that repentant about it.

"What the hell do you want to talk about?" He groused, sounding very much like he was considering retracting his permission. If the first words out of his mouth were about Jeremy still avoiding him Sebastian knew he'd be kicked out in a second flat.

However this was no longer a problem because Sebastian's attention had been caught by something else. He hadn't noticed it at first but… "What is  _that_?" He asked, startling Jeremy. He actually felt the older man jump at the sound of his voice, had he just not noticed Sebastian approaching him?

Cursing himself Sebastian remembered just how quietly he moved now days. He'd always been rather light on his feet but he'd gotten alarmingly good at sneaking up on people recently. Specifically on Blaire. He'd have to be conscious about how much sound he made from now on or risk giving someone a heart attack.

Calming from his own near heart attack, Jeremy fixed his scowl back into place. He took a deliberate step away from Sebastian and the blonde felt a familiar ugly emotion twist in his chest. The urge to reach out and grab Jeremy was nearly overwhelming. He knew it was a kneejerk reaction, a relic of a time where he actively had to physically keep Jeremy from getting away.

Even now…he found methods of restraining Jeremy.

Instead of ropes he used words and deals, ensnaring the man so he couldn't go far. Funny, Sebastian though this to be a very Blaire way of dealing with a problem. Had he used these underhanded tactics on anyone else – Jeremy might have been proud of him.

"Does the concept of personal space completely evade you?" Jeremy hissed, not answering the initial question.

That didn't sit right with him.

With a step forward that Sebastian made sure Jeremy took notice of, he once again reached out. This time Jeremy did little more than tense, but he didn't pull away when his arm was caught. Through his cringe Jeremy still managed to scowl. "I asked you what this is." Sinclair spoke again, voice lower now. Tone taking on a harsh edge.

He wasn't going to let Jeremy weasel his way out of this, not when there was a  _scar_  on him that Sinclair did not remember.

Watching the horror flash across Jeremy's face was painfully telling. He tried to cover it quickly with a growl but Sebastian had seen enough. He was crowding into Jeremy's space now, a small voice of reason in his head screamed at him to back up. To give the man room to breathe, to run if he needed it. But Sebastian wasn't listening to that concerned voice of reason; instead he was wholly focused on the offending patch of skin that had caught his eye.

Jeremy's body was a canvas littered with evidence of his misery. Sebastian had painstakingly patched every single part of him back together countless times. He knew every single one of these marks, how old they were, what caused them – if it was him that left them on Jeremy.

But this one was not one he knew.

In comparison the little scar was barely worth mentioning. It was little more than a discolored line of slightly raised flesh. Like something from a cut that had scarred rather than fade. Against Jeremy's arm, where there were substantial chunks taken out of him – it was easily lost. But not to Sebastian.

That tiny scar felt like an offense.

It was an unwelcome new addition to Jeremy's body and Sebastian's mind was running wild with his imagination. Realistically he knew it must be something mundane. But his panicked mind was coming up with all kinds of scenarios he didn't like.

What if since being separated Jeremy had been hurt by someone else? What if he hadn't actually gone straight to Park, but had actually gotten into trouble? Sebastian wasn't aware that he was squeezing down on Jeremy's arm until the man in question let out a hiss of pain.

That was sobering and Sebastian's fingers eased up just enough to stop from bruising.

Then in the same second he surged forward with his other hand, cupping Jeremy's face to keep the man's eyes on his. "What happened?" He demanded, voice remaining low even though he should have made it reassuring.

"Stop." Jeremy's voice came out sounding strangled. Fingers meekly trying to pry Sebastian's hand away from his arm to no avail. "Don't fucking touch me, Sinclair."

Not good enough that louder voice in Sebastian's head snapped and he very nearly slammed Jeremy against the wall. It was only his self-restraint that kept him from once again tuning his grasp into an abusing one. "Patience, Jeremy." Sebastian bit out. "I only have so much of it."

There was a clear battle going on in Jeremy's head and for as limited as his patience might be, Sebastian let him fight it out.

Finally he was rewarded with a snarl and more words. "It was just a fucking accident you moron. Playing with Jackie, caught myself on a branch, that's it!" Somehow this was amusing to Sebastian and he smiled. Thumbing gently over the scar now that he knew it was something so innocent.

Funny that he didn't for a second doubt Jeremy's story. A pathological liar who had made an art of the act – and Sebastian believed him in a heartbeat.

"Stop that." Jeremy snapped again and Sebastian was a little surprised. He expected to be growled at but there was a note of urgency behind Jeremy's demand this time that caught his attention. There was desperation in his voice. "Stop touching them god damn it."

It clicked.

The thought pushed into place so suddenly and firmly that Sebastian was amazed it did not make an audible snap.

"Why not?"

He knew better. God he should have known better. Sebastian knew, even as his words dipped down into a near mocking murmur, that he should have backed away the moment Jeremy demanded it. He had no right to crowd Jeremy in like this, to trap a man who already bore the scars from their encounters on his mind just as much his body. But in that moment Sebastian couldn't pry himself away.

There was no malice in this. There was no desire to see Jeremy afraid, as he no doubt though Sebastian wanted. Instead the blonde moved with an entirely different purpose. One that Jeremy would have likely laughed at if he were not insulted.

With Jeremy's arm still caught in his hand, Sebastian twitched his fingers a little tighter around his wrist, holding the older man steady. He cringed, looking between Sebastian and the grasp he had tentatively. There was the promise of a struggle if Sebastian overstepped his bounds any further and similarly, there was the promise of failure should Jeremy try to fight him off.

Again his thumb traced over the slightly upraised flesh of Jeremy scar, the man flinched but didn't put up anymore of a fuss than that. Sebastian's eyes were on his face, carefully watching for any sign of real resistance as he pulled Jeremy just that little bit closer. His arm turned upwards, exposing the paler flesh and scar along with it.

For a moment longer Sebastian merely watched Jeremy over the arm he held. "Why does it bother you?" He asked again, quieter still and without a hint of the earlier teasing. He felt Jeremy go taunt under his hands, no doubt taken off guard by the seriousness of his tone. Or perhaps it was how the words came across too gently for his liking.

"Don't fuck around. Just let go of me for god's sake." Jeremy snapped, voice breaking on the final word. "Damn it Sinclair, don't look at me."

That's not an answer; Sebastian thought his eyes narrowing just a fraction. "You're an extraordinarily dishonest person, Jeremy." He replied evenly. "Can't let anyone know when you actually want something nice, can you?"

Sinclair was a little surprised to hear Jeremy's breath catching in his throat. Something about those words jarring him. Frowning he again glanced down at Jeremy's little scar.

Such an innocent little blemish against the horrendous marks across his body. It dawned on Sebastian that while this scar irritated him with its mere existence…it was a badge of sorts.

Once that thought slipped into Sebastian's mind he couldn't shake it.

Disbelief accompanied this new idea as he looked at the scar, this was perhaps the first and only physical evidence of what Blaire  _could_  be. A scratch he'd gotten playing with Jackie and Noel – something that would have been impossible for the man Jeremy had once been.

For as much as Sebastian hated to look at it…this small patch of wounded skin was all the evidence in the world that Blaire had become something different from what he had been and for that he could not ignore it.

"What are you doing!" Jeremy yelped, horrified when Sebastian pressing a small kiss to the scar.

He'd never seen Blaire blush before and peering up at his mortified expression as red gradually filled into his cheeks – Sebastian couldn't help but smile mischievously into his wrist. "You fucking freak, knock it off." Jeremy ground out, voice nothing even close to steady. "I told you to stop fucking around…" The words tapered off when Sebastian gave him another little pull forward. As to why Jeremy didn't even attempt to jerk away was anyone's best guess. He certainly didn't stop to wonder himself, instead staring at Sebastian's face when he should have been lining up a punch for it.

Sebastian had that look again, that faint smile and gentle eyes that Jeremy had seen so often directed at Riley or at Waylon but this…this might have been the first time it was just for him.

Now that he had it Jeremy didn't have the first inkling what to do with it. "Will you tell me yet?" Sebastian inquired gently. He paused, waiting for Jeremy to find the words but they never came. With a quiet sigh Sebastian's fingers reached for Jeremy's other arm.

He ought to have pulled away, refused to allow Sebastian access to more of his body. But Jeremy couldn't find the will to do it. Some sort of quiet dread settling over him as Sebastian's gaze turned downwards. Passing over every little imperfection and disgusting scar that had accumulated on his body. Jeremy knew them all intimately. He'd run his fingers over every dip and rise in his flesh, stared at the wreck of a body that replaced the one he'd had before. He knew it well enough that when Sebastian's eyes settled on each scar – he saw exactly how unsightly he was.

"Stop." Jeremy croaked, voice tight with emotion he'd rather bury. "I'm…I'm serious, Sebastian."

For a second Sebastian did stop.

Eyes flicking back up to Jeremy's face and away from the worst of his deformities. Jeremy had more words; more demands for him to step away and stop whatever stupid thought had been conjured up in his silly little head. But when he tried to speak, Jeremy's eyes met with Sebastian's discolored set. The milky white eye on his face snuffing out the words before he could so much as whisper them.

Sebastian's own scars staring back up at him, silencing Jeremy's objections.

After a beat of silence Sinclair smiled faintly, and for a horrible moment Jeremy could almost swear his mind was being read. Sebastian's eyes dropped back to Jeremy's arms and this time he didn't say a word as they traveled up. Then once Sebastian was confident Jeremy would not bite, his fingers followed that path.

Jeremy winced at the gentle contact. He felt disgust seeping into his gut, hot and sickly as Sebastian's fingers fell into every gouge and passed over every imperfection on his body. Running delicately over his disgrace of an arm. They made it to his elbow, dancing across the joint and coming to rest just under his shoulder. Here Sebastian paused, gaze flicking to Jeremy's face for just a moment. He regarded the silent man closely, searching for any sign he would say something to stop him.

Nothing was said and Jeremy could feel the heat burning in against the back of his neck, racing up into his cheeks.

Then Sebastian's icy fingers drifted across from his shoulder, pressing against the uppermost corner of his torso. Jeremy's breath stopped in his chest, daring not take another sip of air, knowing Sebastian would have felt him shudder as his fingers glided overtop the scars that littered his body. Sebastian was focused on whatever it was he was doing, but when his fingers pressed into Jeremy's side, against the very familiar shape of a scar belonging to scissors, Jeremy broke again.

"Please." He spoke quietly, that single word stopping Sebastian dead. "Please don't look at me anymore."

Again the young man was staring up at Jeremy's face. His own a mix of surprise and uncertainty. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds before melting into something more heart wrenching. Blaire knew that emotion, that obnoxious mix of concern, grief and sympathy. Jeremy was about to snap at him to keep his useless fucking pity to himself, but then Sebastian was pressing a gentle kiss into Jeremy's side.

The action pulled a hiss out of Jeremy who flinched and tensed up immediately. Part of him could not believe how much of a fucking lunatic Sebastian was but…the rest of him was aching.

It hurt.

_It hurts._

Sebastian's attention snapped back to Jeremy who had not realised the words had actually come out of his throat until Sinclair was there, hands hurried as they wound around his neck and lips just as feverish as they pressed against his own. Jeremy's eyes shot wide and he stumbled back a step, his own hands hovering at Sebastian's sides – not sure if he wanted to touch, not sure he was allowed to even if he did.

The blonde's lips were soft, just like Blaire expected they would be even with the urgency behind the kiss. The only part of Sebastian that was rough, the only part of him that was not smoothed to perfection was where the burns had toughened his skin. Jeremy found, as he unwittingly pushed back into that kiss, that if he was able to take control, if he was able to maneuver Sebastian and change the direction of the kiss – he could just feel that slightly uneven skin against his lips. A small thrill shot through him when he could, that well acquainted sense of ownership washing over him.

It was evidence of Sebastian's place in the world – evidence that he belonged to Blaire.

But a moment later Jeremy came back to himself, jerking back and ending the kiss. He put on an appalled expression, one that was almost authentic when he felt a traitorous sense of disappointment filling him at breaking the contact with Sebastian. "What are you playing at!" He barked, voice not nearly as firm as he'd intended it to be. He felt like a damn blushing maiden, hand lingering over his mouth as that telltale heat rushed up into his face. "You think this is funny?"

"No I, Jeremy…" Sebastian stared at him, wearing that perfectly kicked puppy look. Jeremy hadn't seen that one in a while and for a second his mind didn't quite know how to process it. But then Sebastian's hands were reaching out to catch his wrists again and Jeremy only just had the presence of mind to be alarmed before the blonde pushed them both backwards. He half expected to be met with a wall but instead felt the world fall out from under him as Sebastian pushed them both back onto Jeremy's bed.

The mere fact that he was on a bed with Sebastian did nothing for Jeremy's sanity in that moment.

An undignified yelp found its way out of his mouth when Sebastian's freezing fucking fingers found their way back onto his chest. Once again narrowing in on a scar. Jeremy nearly snarled at him again but the sound was lost in the back of his throat when Sebastian kissed this mark as well. His fingers traveled away, finding another and Sebastian repeated the process. Each one too light, barely more than a brush against his skin and Jeremy couldn't fucking stand it.

His hands came up to his face, covering his eyes as though he might somehow be able to block out the humiliation if he pretended not to see it. But he felt every tender touch, each little caress of Sebastian's fingers drawing a shiver out of him. "Christ…" He ground out. "Why do you have to be so fucking- god damn it." He could hardly even put into words how much he currently hated Sebastian. Drawing attention to each of his failings, forcing Jeremy to remember how revolting his body had become.

How Sebastian could even bear to touch it was beyond Jeremy.

Then Sebastian's cold hand was pressed against the side of his face, and Jeremy jumped again in alarm. Peering out through the cracks in his fingers to scowl at the moron, Jeremy was met with that same faintly determined but no less pitiful expression. The hand cupping his face curled slightly inward, a comforting gesture as it cradled Jeremy's cheek. A feeling Jeremy had never actually felt before. He knew it was supposed to be a gesture of affection, had seen others use it on loved ones. But Jeremy had never been on either end of that contact before.

When the man above him spoke, his voice was kept low but did not manage to entirely keep the slight waver out of his words. "I know you're not the type to believe things easily." He began guardedly. "And I know you sure as hell don't trust what I have to say. I also know you're not the type of man that approves of sweet words…but unfortunately I don't have any other way of getting my thoughts across to you right now. But I'll try to say it in a way you  _might_  understand."

Sebastian's eyes slid back open, eyebrows knitting together as he stared at Jeremy firmly. Each word spoken with deliberate slowness and finality. "If I catch you thinking like this ever again, I am going to take your ass to therapy. Understand?"

Jeremy laughed. How could he not when Sebastian managed to say something like that? The implication of a 'real' therapist laughable after all they'd been through. The sound of his laughter was unpleasant, dry and just a touch desperate. "What do you think you're looking at right now?" Jeremy managed after a moment. "I'm a wreck."

"Maybe." Sebastian allowed bitterly. "But this." He continued, fingers pausing on one of Jeremy's many imperfections. " _This_ does not change anything. If anything…I love these scars." Jeremy snarled in answer to that, thinking Sebastian was mocking him but the blond only chuckled quietly, pressing a kiss against what must have been a scar left by Walrider. He then whispered into Jeremy's flushed skin. "You don't believe me but you of all people should understand. These scars are proof that you're alive, Jeremy. They're proof that you kept on going, that you're the ridiculous, dishonest man that is currently living with Waylon Park of all people. They're proof of everything you've done…everything I've done and I love each one for it."

"It's ugly." Jeremy hated himself for saying it. For saying it in such a wretchedly broken voice. Hated himself for becoming something ugly in the first place. Most of all he hated Sebastian for claiming otherwise.

Displeased by this Sebastian glanced up at Jeremy once more. His expression twisted into a frustrated frown before he shifted up, hand pulling Jeremy's chin down so that he could kiss him again. This time Jeremy didn't even have it in him to pretend he wanted to pull back. Instead he let his eyes slide shut, hands dropping away from his face as he relaxed into the gentle contact.

It occurred to Jeremy that Sebastian was such an inexperienced brat.

No idea what he was doing, but rushing ahead to do it anyway because…what? Because he was passionate? Jeremy couldn't help but be amused by this, leaning into the chaste kiss that Sebastian was really putting his all into. This guy…was seriously a complete moron.

This time Jeremy's hands didn't hesitate, coming up to grip Sebastian's sleeve at the shoulder, pulling him in that little bit closer so that he could deepen the kiss. Sebastian startled but didn't resist when coaxed to open his mouth, allowing the more experienced of them to show him what he was lacking. Even as Sebastian lingered over Jeremy, being the driving force behind this contact he was all but putty in Jeremy's hands, going so far as to whine into the kiss at one point.

Jeremy knew he was smiling into the kiss now, amused by Sinclair's blatant lack of knowledge.

This time when he broke it Jeremy only did so when he wanted to leave kisses against Sebastian's neck. He would have bitten immediately, a punishment for all of Sebastian's nonsense were it not for the fact that the kid was shivering a little bit above him, looking just that little too overwhelmed. "You started it." He reminded Sebastian wickedly, almost having forgiven him for that stunt earlier just because he was so entertaining.

"Shut up." Was his genius response and this time Jeremy did laugh out loud.

In retaliation Sebastian pushed Jeremy back into the bed, glaring down at him. "I'm serious." He stressed but Jeremy just could not wipe the grin off his face. Eventually Sebastian cracked as well, a reluctant smirk rising on his lips as he looked down at Jeremy. "Insufferable bastard…" He muttered with a scoff.

The counter quip came easily. "Inexperienced brat." And one of those dazzling smiles graced Sebastian's face. Not nearly as sweet or perfect as the expressions he gave Waylon – but no less brilliant. He laughed and Jeremy almost felt dizzy, at a loss with what to do with this man's attentions.

Then it softened and Sebastian sat up, another glance down at Jeremy just to remind him about how exposed he was. "When I said I wanted to talk this… wasn't exactly what I had in mind." He commented with a little helpless shrug as though somehow he'd tripped into this situation rather than it being all his own doing.

"Are you sure about that, Sinclair? Sounds like a lie to me." Jeremy mused, getting an exasperated glare from the man that didn't hold any heat behind it. Then the expression crumbled and Sebastian looked a touch uneasy.

"Jeremy, can I…?" He struggled for the words for a moment before deflating with a sigh. "I'm sick of you avoiding me."

How was Jeremy supposed to tell the kid that he was being avoided for reasons precisely like this?

Christ, even now he could feel Sebastian's body above him, focusing in on little details his mind had no place focusing on. But of course Sebastian wouldn't think of that, of course he wouldn't realise the distance was there for a good fucking reason. Instead he had to barrel in headfirst and start making demands to fix some imaginary problem.

There was no force, heaven, hell or earth that would have gotten Jeremy to be honest with Sinclair in that moment.

Instead he reached up grabbed a fist full of blonde hair – ignoring the little yelp Sebastian meekly gave – and spoke what must have been the most well intended lie of his life. "So I put a little distance between us because I was thinking you still had ambitions of snapping my fingers one day." A guilty look and a lie believed. "But seeing as you  _clearly_  have other idiotic motions rattling around that head of yours – a compromise." He suggested smoothly and was pleased when Sebastian was clearly paying attention. "I'll stop dodging you every other moment of the day, and you will not lie to me again."

"I didn't-" Jeremy fingers tightened in Sebastian's hair, cutting the words out.

"You  _will not_." He repeated firmly, each word a slow growl. " _Lie_  to me again."

"I didn't!" Sebastian protested and oh Jeremy could have loved him for his naivety in that moment. It seemed he might have forgotten how easily Jeremy could twist people to his whims.

All those months spent playing the bad guy and Sebastian was still clueless in moments like this. What was the point of playing the big bad if he couldn't hold the act once he was even slightly out of his depth? Bullshiting as you drowned at the deep end was half of a good act after all.

"Oh?" Jeremy mused, jeering tone getting Sebastian's guard back up. "Then what exactly did you have in mind when you wanted to ' _talk'_." Of course he knew Sebastian really only wanted to talk to him. He didn't have it in him to think dirtier than that surely.

He wasn't like Blaire.

But it was easier to mock him about this than to talk about the lie that truly bothered him. The lie that Sebastian insisted was true – that he was not disgusting to look at.

Jeremy did not know how he did it…how he sounded so convincing when he said the things he had. But he didn't believe him, not for a second. He knew his body was repulsive and none of Sebastian's white lies would change that.

As to why he lied at all…well Jeremy couldn't even begin to fathom.

"I swear this wasn't what I…" Sebastian began, sputtering at the insinuation he'd had less than pure intentions. "I just-…you were so…and the scars."

"Jesus, kid. Don't hurt yourself." Jeremy laughed, watching as Sinclair began to turn a nice bright red. Embarrassed and stumbling for an explanation. It was beautiful.

Now frustrated he glared at Jeremy but didn't pull away from the hand in his hair. Instead he took a deep breath and said something Jeremy had not accounted for. "Maybe sometimes it crosses my mind…" He admitted quietly and it felt as though Jeremy's heart just…stopped.

Right there dead in his chest, frozen or broken he had no damn idea but certainly not functioning.

"It…I know it's strange, I'm sorry okay? But I swear I didn't have any bad intentions when I came up here tonight, I swear I didn't."

And fuck he was so sincere. So earnest in the way his eyes pleaded with Jeremy to believe him. His heart was definitely malfunctioning and Jeremy wasn't even sure he was breathing. This kid actually fucking knew what something like lust was, for  _him_  no less? Hell definitely froze over that time and Jeremy was pretty sure he'd just lost his marbles.

Congratulations he thought dryly, survived working for Murkoff, every lunatic in that asylum and months of seemingly endless bullshit – but it was some inexperienced kid that did your sanity in. Good work.

"You…you don't believe me, do you?" Sebastian asked, sounding miserable as he misunderstood Blaire's silence. "I know I've been nothing but horrid…and granted you probably deserved half of it – but I'd never…I swear I'd never do something like that."

 _Wish you fucking would_. Jeremy's mind viciously thought, traitorous as it wandered back to a few…very select dreams he'd had. Cursing himself bitterly and cursing Sinclair even more vehemently, Jeremy's expression settled into a scowl as he learnt how to manage with a clearly no longer beating heart.

Gradually his grip on Sebastian's hair turned lax, freeing the man that should have at least tried to pull free at some point. "You are un-fucking-believable." Blaire muttered angrily, still glaring at Sebastian out of the corner of his eye. And the man had the poor manners to still sit there looking like some poor lost pup.

And Christ if those eyes didn't damn near do Blaire in.

"Must be insane." He muttered to himself before reaching up to catch Sinclair by the front of his hoodie and drag him down into a searing kiss. The younger man let out a little sound of surprise before realising what was happening and it did unholy things to Blaire's pride when Sebastian immediately melted into him. Not once trying to pull away, instead pressing deeper into the small contact Blaire provided.

It was likely not testament to how good Jeremy  _could_  apparently be that his first thought after breaking the kiss was,  _I suppose if I ever want to drag him to my bedroom all I have to do is start ignoring him._


	4. Moving Content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a chapter, sorry.

Welcome to Rapture has been moved over to its own fic because it got so outrageously long.

You can find it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10492113/chapters/23145321

I'll be putting different trash in here hopefully to make up for the gap the Bioshock AU leaves behind.

In the mean time have some pictures.

 

 

 


	5. Things We Can't Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an imaginary smut scene from the Bioshock AU.
> 
> So I guess...spoilers for Bioshock? Yeah. Don't read, just in case.

The hideout was a very homely place. Sebastian knew he was perhaps the only person who thought so, everyone else looked at the leaky ceiling, dirty floors and couldn't help but dream of the surface.

But for a boy that knew the inside of Rapture and nothing else, the hide out was the coziest place he'd ever settled. The leaks, the dirt, the dark, none of it held much sway when he could freely walk between rooms and not be afraid of what might happen once he passed through the doors. It meant nothing to the boy that outside the windows of Rapture sat the bottom of the ocean instead of the sun when he could sit himself down and not be frightened that his comfort was punishable.

However, he also knew that soon his friends would be unable to stand it any longer. They were already sick of the underwater prison, already showing signs of cracking under the pressure and Sebastian could only offer support – but he could not sympathize.

He was sitting with Mary, Lottie and Sally when Miles and his brother returned. Sebastian knew it was not to be a fruitful day by the dull thuds of their feet. Tired, angry, barely keeping it together with every heavy step. Their expeditions out were usually unsuccessful. Waylon's hopes of getting them out of Rapture with a self made bathysphere were dwindling with every passing day.

It was not for lack of skill or effort on anyone's part. Rather they had met with a single impassable obstacle.

Quietly Sebastian stared down at the few toys the girls had to play with. The broken, mismatched tea set say sprawled out by his legs. As expected Riley and Miles did not come into the playroom first. They went to see Waylon and Lisa the moment they got back home – keeping well away from Sebastian. Keeping out of earshot as though that would somehow make a secret of what they had to say.

They thought he didn't know. But of course he did.

Rapture still belonged to Blaire and without the genetic key, they weren't going anywhere.

The sigh slipped out of him before Sebastian thought better of it. No one did credit the shrewdness of children. "Is something wrong, brother?" Mary asked, her question drawing Lottie and Sally's attention. Sally had been humming that little tune that Sebastian did not know but she stopped once Mary spoke. The three young, perfectly normal, girls stared at him curiously. There was a little bit of cheek in those eyes too; children did have a rather wonderful cruel streak to them. Wholly harmless and yet somehow still so impish.

The thought warmed Sebastian's face back into a gentle smile and he shook his head. Not wanting to concern the girls anymore than they already were. The others seemed to think the girls incapable of a greater understanding of their situation – Sebastian thought otherwise. Children were young, inexperienced – this in no way made them dumb.

After all he was barely more than a child himself when it was really thought about. He too had been naïve and perhaps still was in many regards, but similarly Sebastian liked to believe this did not make him an idiot.

Although, he'd been foolish enough to believe the first kind voice he heard.

"It's alright." Sebastian found himself murmuring, speaking barely above a whisper. It felt easier to be quiet, nice to be soft in any way after having been forced to be harsh so many times.

Especially with the girls. Everything about him was gentle with them, his words, movements, his every action purposefully made tender. Sebastian was still surprised with how easily it came to him. Part of him had been afraid he'd never be able to be soft but he found that even with all of the intentions of his creation – there were still some things that could be obtained through choice.

Others…others could not simply be trained out him.

"I didn't ask about 'it'. I asked about you." Mary's voice startled Sebastian from his less than positive thoughts.

Meeting the child's big blue eyes, Sebastian felt himself a fool for thinking she would not find that little technicality. Yes, children were by no means stupid.

Smiling wearily Sebastian leant forward, arms resting lazily in his lap. "You're right. I'm sorry. I am okay." He amended in a mild tone, not giving in to any particular emotion. "I suppose I'm not very entertaining. Perhaps Riley will play with you later?"

"I think you're fun!" Lottie immediately protested and Sebastian's smile inched upwards just a bit more.

Lottie was a distant child in most regards, didn't speak much and tended to keep mostly to herself, even refusing to play with the other girls on occasion. But when it came to defending her favourite sweet, bedtime story, toy, or indeed her favourite brother, she was quite vocal.

Reaching out Sebastian ruffled the girl's blonde hair and it might have been because it was him doing it that she didn't protest. Well, she didn't protest in earnest, a little huff of irritation at most. "That's very kind of you, Lottie." He told her warmly and was surprised when this seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

He'd gotten better at figuring out when the girls were in bad moods and when Lottie puffed her cheeks out and began to look a little bit red in the face Sebastian knew he'd said something wrong. But he didn't know exactly what it was. He startled when the first sniffle came and panicked when the telltale hiccups began.

"N-No, wait hold on. I…I didn't mean…oh no. Oh please, please don't be upset." Sebastian didn't know how to handle the girls crying. He thought that he should have, he was the next youngest after all and he'd had his fair share of tears. But somehow whenever the girls began to tear up he panicked, lost all sense of what he should be doing.

What was worse was the fact he seemed to have been ganged up on, Mary wasn't at all upset. Instead she looked at Lottie with the same glee one would watching a friend lay a particularly nasty joke. Only Sally seemed concerned, although her concern was directed at Sebastian's franticly hopeless efforts to console Lottie.

Still panicking Sebastian ended up falling into an old habit, reaching out to try and physically mend the situation. But of course there was not quick fix to a child crying. At least none that he knew of. "P-Please…?" He tried desperately to the sound of Mary giggling at his other side.

"Alright, alright, enough o' that!" All three of the kids jumped in surprise when a sturdy hand came down atop Lottie's head. "Going to give the poor boy a heart attack you are." Miles grunted, messing up Lottie's hair far worse than Sebastian had. She was less accommodating for Miles. With an indignant squawk Lottie pried Miles's fingers off of her head, the crocodile tears vanishing in an instant.

Poor Sebastian couldn't tell the difference.

Lottie's waterworks vanished and she scowled at Miles while the old fighter smirked back down at her. "Not bad kid, next time try actually crying." Grumbling irritably Lottie crossed her arms and gave up the game. Smiling affectionate Miles's stern hand turned softer, patting the sulking girl before shoving his hands back into his pockets and glancing Sebastian's way.

"Time to call it a night don't you think?" He asked to a chorus of groans from the children and a relieved smile from Sebastian. "Come on you little monsters, Riley is going to nag me into oblivion if you don't hustle off to bed." With a quiet word of agreement from Sebastian and the promise of more games in the morning the girls gradually began to make their way towards bed. Certainly not pleased to be doing so but knowing they'd eventually be rewarded for good behaviour rather than scolded for bad.

Lottie and Mary were the last to go, pausing only long enough for Lottie to poke her tongue out at Miles much to Mary's glee. Riley appeared in the doorway a moment later, hushed words of admonishment being uttered as he bit back a smile of his own. Ushering the girls away Riley went to make sure they were all put to bed. The moment the kids were gone Miles plonked himself down on the ground across for Seb. It was an inelegant motion, he simply dropped, one arm propped up on his knees, holding what looked like half a bottle of whisky and a hefty groan.

"Long day?" Sebastian asked.

"The longest." This statement was accompanied by a gulp of his drink. Sebastian was quiet as he watched Miles. He was bolstering in a way, but there was still that heavy weariness hanging around him. He grinned and acted with a kind of crass that Sebastian could never hope to replicate, but it was there in his eyes and the long silences he lapsed into.

Miles, just like the rest of them, was very tired.

And yet. "Those girls got you pegged, boyo." Miles mused with a beaming grin. A picture of brotherly bullying. "Going to have you running circles if you're not careful."

He was indulging Miles mostly. Didn't mind that he teased lightly here and there. It was nice in a way, that Miles did not treat him like glass. Not like…

"Hey!" Riley's irritated voice broke in, snatching the bottle away from Miles a moment later without being met with any real resistance. Although Miles did look like be bemoaned the loss of his drink.

"Come on Riles, it's been a hell of a day. Give a man a little sympathy?"

Riley's eye twitched and Sebastian tried not to smile. He knew it would be wrong to find amusement in Riley's frustration. Very suddenly he found himself as Mary. Miles was Lottie and unfortunately that made Riley the unwitting target. "Getting plastered won't solve anything."

"Seems like a good solution to me." Knowing he wasn't going to get anywhere with that line of thought Miles gestured to Sebastian who immensely regretted having smiled after all. Now he was involved. "Why not let the kid have a drink then." Miles suggested merrily, something about his smile a little bit strained. Sebastian wondered if Riley worried about him as well, trying to retain that level of cheerfulness when he seemed to be straining under the weight of everything else. "You ever had a drink before, Seb?"

No, Sebastian shook his head and Miles took this as a situation that needed rectifying. "Well there you go, Riley let the kid have a drink. I'll share my stash."

"Not a chance." Riley refused outright.

This finality sparked something that must have been Sebastian's version of teenage rebellion. He didn't like the sound of Riley speaking for him. He was the older brother sure enough, but he was not Sebastian's keeper. "I wouldn't mind a drink." He said on impulse even though he had absolutely no desire to actually drink. He felt ten times more childish for having acted out when Miles met his words with a toothy grin.

Riley looked rightfully surprised and for a moment seemed ready to refuse but then too seemed to realise how ridiculous he was being. After all they were brothers and Sebastian had proven in the past that ordering him to no do something as though he was the father did not end well. Especially when Miles was there to encourage his rebellious streak.

Helplessly he looked between his little brother and Miles. Then finally with a sigh had handed the bottle back to Riley. "Fine." He ground out sounding as though it pained him to relent. "But only that bottle. Nothing else, we're not letting this become a thing."

Miles agreed even as he wore the smile of a devil with a made deal.

"Not to worry, Riles. I know just how to handle the drink – I'll make sure you two light weights don't punch above your belt." Leaning forward he offered the bottle to Sebastian, still sporting that mirthful expression. "Bottoms up lad."

…

…

Miles was a wicked, rotten liar and they all deserved it for buying into his fibs.

The one bottle rule Riley had attempted to implement went down the drain after Miles let both the Sinclair boys do the first round of drinking. Sitting back with that knowing smirk. Sebastian had never had a drop of alcohol in his life and Riley was only slightly better – Miles didn't have to do much convincing to get them to agree to more drinks after taking the first lot they'd been offered.

Before long he had his way and the three of them likely couldn't have walked a straight line if their lives depended on it.

Riley was apparently a weepy drunk and Miles couldn't seem to stop laughing at him as he collapsed against his shoulder. Muttering nonsense comments about Miles needing to stop talking. About how much of a sorry bastard he was and how desperately he wished Miles would just shut up for five seconds. Of course the man's only answer was to laugh harder, knocking Riley on the shoulder playfully.

All the while Sebastian remained on his side of the room, knees drawn up to his chest watching his brother and Miles with a dazed smile. His brother didn't like the idea of drinking but he sure as hell drowned himself in it once he started.

It was nice, not thinking and Sebastian let everything just wash over him. Closing his eyes and resting his head in his arms for a while. He must have nodded off at some point because he was suddenly jerked back into awareness by Miles nudging his foot. "Kid." He drawled, putting too much emphasis in the word. "Kid." He called again, drawing the word out into a long hiss. "Your brother's dead weight." He said, gesturing to Riley who had passed out curled up against Miles.

The sight caused Sebastian to laugh quietly. Riley would be mortified later, but for now he looked very comfortable where he nestled into Miles more than willing arms. Judging by the smirk on Miles's face he was storing this all away for ammunition later down the line.

"I'm going to get this one to bed before he starts drooling on me. You good, kiddo?" He asked, looking Sebastian over. "Not going to pass out before you get to bed are ya?"

"I'll be alright." Sebastian said and only now seemed to notice how frequently he uttered those words since coming to the hideout. Thinking it did not sound convincing enough Sebastian added. "I'll turn in later. I'm just going to relax for a moment." That was marginally better.

Perhaps the alcohol made him more convincing because Miles took his word for it. With a brief nod he hoisted Riley back up onto his feet with a small grunt of exertion. "Weighs a damn ton." He groused but still managed to begin pulling the drunk man towards the sleeping quarters. "Don't stay up too late, yeah?" He called back to Sebastian, getting a distant hum of acknowledgment in return.

As the sounds of Miles pulling Riley away grew fainter Sebastian was left to in his own contented lull. He was there in silence for perhaps five minutes before his mind started to drift closer to sleep again. He never quite crossed back over the threshold of sleep and consciousness; instead he lingered on the edges for quiet some time. Thoughts that never fully formed coming and going from his mind unimpeded.

It was relaxing. It was nice. Everything was fine. Everything was…

….not quite right.

Frustrated Sebastian's eyes crept back open. He shifted slightly where he sat but found himself no more comfortable for his efforts. Confused Sebastian let himself fall back flat against the wall behind him, staring up at their leaky ceiling as though it might explain to him what it was that kept him on edge. Confused Sebastian's hazy mind tried to sort through the sensations he knew to pair a situation to what he felt currently.

It was not quite warm but he felt hot in the face, a kind of tingle running up his legs, pooling around his…

"No." Sebastian groaned pitifully, hands coming up to cover his face. Horror came first, followed quickly by embarrassment. It felt incredibly humiliating to finally place a word to what he was feeling and have that word be aroused of all things.

"I…suppose that makes sense." He began to try and rationalize. How long had he been in the hide out now? Perhaps a few days, maybe a fortnight. He'd never actually slowed down for long enough to let something like personal desire set in. Always a job at hand, always something that needed his attention. So much running and fighting – not a single quiet moment to even consider something as rudimentary as a libido.

But he was still flesh and blood, still a young man physically and unfortunately not at all a stranger to the concept of sexual desires. Frustrated with himself Sebastian tried to simply will the sensation away only to find it seemed to rally against him, burning just a little hotter in his groin when he tried to dispel it. "O-Okay…okay…this is alright. This is fine." He said for what must have been the hundredth time already. "I…I've dealt with worse." Splicers, big daddies, Blaire of all—

Oh Christ.

It was worse. It was getting worse and Sebastian was panicking. He'd never exactly been given the run down on this kind of problem. He had to remove himself from the hideout. At least get himself someplace where he could wait it out without the risk of alerting any of his companions. The underwater passageways came to mind. Out there he'd find no splicers and it was unlikely any of the others would wander out that way in the middle of the night. That was perfect.

Sebastian knew he was drunk, knew that he would find walking a little difficult. He had not expected his legs to all but give out the moment he tried. Apparently they became incredibly difficult to stand on when his body felt like it was going to start melting at any given moment. Still he struggled his way out of the main living area and towards the underground passageways.

The moment he entered them Sebastian felt just a little bit less horrified but the relief lasted perhaps forty seconds before shame kicked in. That took the last of the strength out of his legs, and Sebastian only just managed to brace himself against the wall before falling flat on his face. Slowly he slid himself down to the ground, figuring this was as good a place as he could be. Carefully tucked away behind a corner, out of the sight of any living person and still the shame needled at him.

Here he was, huddled against a stone wall of what might as well have been a sewer. Hiding from his friends and family, just trying to wait out what might have been the single most embarrassing moment of his life.

But…he shouldn't be embarrassed should he?

This was normal, completely normal. Human men his age had this problem all the time, it was nothing to be upset about surely. But even as Sebastian told himself that time and time again he felt no less ridiculous.

He couldn't stay out here all night. At best he'd give everyone a shock when they awoke and found him not there the coming morning and at worst he'd freeze. So…he had to take care of this didn't he?

Still trying not to feel ashamed as he reached over his pants, tried to wash away the feeling of being judged even when he was completely alone. It was the slightest touch, just a bit of pressure over his crouch, completely clothed and still Sebastian jumped. That was a good sign he guessed, maybe, probably…oh god could he really do this?

The doubt lasted until the exact moment his fingers slipped under the waistband of his pants.

It felt as though all the eyes of Rapture were on him, disapproving in what he was doing.. Hell if there was a god Sebastian was surprised they hadn't struck him down right then and there for what he was doing. "Completely normal." He reminded himself even as the humiliation rushed through him. Were it not more heat to add to the growing fire the shame of it might have driven Sebastian away from continuing.

Dragging in a heavy breath that was half to calm his nerves and half to remember he actually had to keep breathing, Sebastian closed his eyes and tried to focus on nothing else but how it felt to run cool fingers over him. It took little time before Sebastian was shivering, able to feel his hand shaking as he worked himself up. Winding himself tighter than he thought humanly possible.  _I thought this was supposed to help._  Sebastian thought in frustration, finding it only got worse the more he touched and somehow he just couldn't seem to stop.

Soon it wasn't enough just to gently work himself up. Sebastian cringed, not expecting the drag of skin on skin to be so rough when dry. The discomfort did nothing to discourage Sebastian who only shuddered as mounting feeling of pleasure shot up his spine, making it difficult to think of much else.

It was almost enough, almost good enough. The heat that boiled up inside of him felt so close but in the same moment too far away. Maddening. Tilting his head back against the solid wall behind him Sebastian groaned rolling his hips up to try and chase after that little spark of satisfaction.

But it  _still_  wasn't enough.

Frustrated and beginning to edge towards desperate he bucked his hips into his hand, just trying to get to what he wanted a bit faster. But even with the harder attentions he wasn't any closer to relief.

"Why?" Sebastian whimpered. "Why can't I…?"

Desperation turned to anger and Sebastian slammed his fist into the wall behind him. But still he tried, panting and whining, but still with no results. It wasn't fair, it wasn't! He just wanted to feel relief for just a moment but instead he was stuck at the edge unable to reach that finish.

Bitterly he cursed everything. Cursed himself for growing up too quickly and not understanding the most basic human needs. Cursed Trager for making them without giving them a damn instruction manual and finally cursed Blaire for exposing him to this kind of thing in the first—

 _Blaire_.

Clumsily Sebastian grabbed for his radio. His desperate fumbling nearly causing him to drop the bulky device. Shakily Sebastian pulled the radio up, still only sparing one hand.

For a second there was hesitation. That moment of clarity that broke through the alcohol and desire, but it was only a moment, another pull of his hand and another moment without success and Sebastian was pushing down the transmission button.

What to say? "Hello…?" His voice came out as little more than a breathy whimper, likely not even audible on the other end of the radio line. Sebastian tried again, only just able to keep the tremor out of his voice the second time he forced the man's name out. "Are you there?"

At first there was nothing and in the silence Sebastian's embarrassment returned. How ridiculous and desperate could he get to actually-

"Well, well, well, didn't expect  _you_  to be calling in." Blaire's voice came across the static, bitter with his resentment and maybe just a touch suspicious. It hardly mattered the result was near immediate, Sebastian's body gave a violent shiver that was not all strictly embarrassment. "How's life? Having a good time over there are you? Sure it's been just  _peachy_  on your side of the pasture, any of your band of idiots found a way out of this hellhole? Doubt it, can't get anywhere without me can you? Might as well just-"

"B-Blaire."

Oh god, he had not meant to speak.

It would have been fine just letting Jeremy go on, lord knows he could have. But Sebastian had opened his mouth and the name just came falling out. But once he'd spoken he just couldn't seem to stop. "Blaire pl-please. Help-"

There was a moment of stillness, and then through the radio there came a sound that wasn't Blaire's voice. Rather it sounded like someone was moving around on the other end, hurried at that. "Sinclair?" Blaire returned, voice closer now. Sebastian imagined him holding the radio put to his face, puzzled by what he was hearing, but closer. That nearly did him in. "Kid, you there? Someone hurting you?"

Were it not for the fact that just hearing Blaire speak to him conjured up memories of how it had felt when the man was there to actually touch him Sebastian might have stopped purely out of guilt. Shuddering Sebastian tried to remember how Jeremy had touched him, how it felt when it was those more experienced hands on him. Rougher, Sebastian adjusted accordingly and found his body reacted positively to this, pulling a surprised groan out of him.

There was anger in Blaire's word now, his voice rising to a shout. "Sebastian if you don't answer me right now-!" In an attempt not to say anything else Sebastian bit his lip but the result was not exactly what he wanted. Rather than words a broken little moan ground out of him and Blaire turned silent in an instant.

Realising what he'd done Sebastian's hand whipped up to cover his mouth, eyes wide as he felt all the heat rush up into his face.

Maybe he'd not been heard. Maybe it was alright and Blaire hadn't caught that little moment of weakness. That hope died when a quiet chuckle of disbelief came filtering through the radio. "Oh now what was that?" All the anger was gone, leaving behind an amused drawl, the sound more familiar to what Sebastian was used to and when Blaire chuckled the sound went straight to his groin.

"Please, I just…please I  _can't_ …." He tried to explain, tried to somehow get his situation across to Blaire as though the man would find it in him to take pity on the sorry excuse of a man. "Help me." He ground out again, biting down whatever pride he had left for the slim hope he might be able to convince Blaire to not leave him high and dry.

The satisfaction in Blaire's thoughtful hum ought to have enraged Sebastian but in that exact moment imagining the smirk on Blaire's face only warmed Sebastian's body that little bit more. Yes, he quite liked that mental image, Blaire sitting at his desk. The same desk he'd once fucked Sebastian on in fact. Wearing that painfully smug smile of his as he listened to Sebastian degrade himself over the radio.

"You want me to take care of you, kid?" Blaire murmured. The words a low amused drone that should not have done the things it did to Sebastian. "Oh but you've been such a bad boy, recently. Why should I help you?"

This was bad, Sebastian felt an all too familiar spike of fear rush through his body. He was putting himself into a bad position but somehow that only made him ache harder in his hand. Something had to be wrong with him.

"I asked you a question, Sebastian." Any thought of danger or humiliation slips Sebastian's mind as Blaire's voice turned low. Deep and still somehow able to stay smooth as honey as he practically growled through the radio. "Or do you not want my help?"

"Please, I…I need you or I can't… _Please_."

He heard Blaire's breath hitch for just a moment. It's such a minute reaction that Sebastian was not entirely sure he hadn't imagined it. It was only when Blaire laughed again that he knew he hadn't, the sound breathier that the others had been. "There's my good boy." His entire body shuddered hearing the small word of praise and knowing Jeremy was going to help him.

"How far along are you, kid?" The only answer he could manage was a shaky, desperate moan. "A bit too far along then. Slow down, Sinclair." It's a near impossible ask but Sebastian finds his hand obeying even as a disappointed whine slips out of his mouth. "No complaints, you'll get what you want. Now quiet down for me so I can take care of you."

And even though he knew Blaire was a cruel man, when he said those words in such a gentle way Sebastian found himself believing them. His hands continued to obey when Blaire instructed him to place one against the wall, face himself the same direction and pull his clothes away.

On the final command he hesitated and Blaire picked up on it in an instant. "Be a good boy, Sebastian. You want to be good don't you?" And god, he  _did_. "You know how it feels, remember how it felt with my hand around you. Just like that, kid." Once he began to listen again Sebastian found it was easy to let his thoughts fall away. Just following Blaire's little instructions, letting his mind conjure up fantasies of the man lingering behind him, holding his hand firmly against the stone wall while the other worked him over the edge.

And when Blaire told him to be louder, to stop trying to muffle himself, Sebastian obliged. But only for as long as he forgot how close he was to the others. Then the sounds became quieter again, more strained and pained with the effort of keeping his voice hushed.

"Gotta say, didn't expect you to be so vulgar with your little family barely more than a room away. What would they think, I wonder, if they saw you like this? Listening to me, wanting  _me_."

Sebastian almost protested, almost said something to the contrary. However the sound was choked off as Sebastian's hips stuttered forward into his fist. It was no longer a dry movement, hs thumb sweeping across the head of his cock, collecting pearly beads, making each movement slick and wet. The feeling was almost enough to push him over but…but…

He needed permission.

This realization hit him at the same time Jeremy chuckle came across the radio. "That's right, kid." He mocked. "You  _need_  me."

"J-Jeremy, no please…"

Still Blaire was relentless, perhaps punishing Sebastian even with this. "You don't come till I say so. You can't until I say you can, you understand that Sinclair? You're never going to have release ever again unless _I_  let you." Each word was punctuated with a growl and Sebastian's entire body nearly caved forward when he heard the desire in Blaire's voice.

Knowing that Blaire was enjoying this, imagining him in that same office pleasuring himself as even with this distance between them he held control over him was maddening. This too was almost enough, almost to enough to make him see stars – but still there was that block. That obstacle he couldn't pass until Blaire told him he could.

"Please." He begged again, whispering the word feverishly as he fucked into his own hand still unable to get there. His imagination wasn't good enough and even as Blaire's voice came through the radio he couldn't make it real enough to cum. "Please just—I just want you. I-I want you to fuck me for god's sake!"

There was a groan coming through the radio and Sebastian almost went to his knees hearing it. Hearing how pleased Jeremy was with what he'd said. "Christ, don't profanity just sound lovely coming out of you?" Blaire muttered quietly, voice just a little bit shaky but no where near the wretched state of Sebastian's.

He nearly sobbed, aching and beginning to feel the burn that had once been pleasant become overwhelming Sebastian began to say things he shouldn't say. "Please, please, please plea—oh god, Jeremy please! Whatever you want, I'll give you whatever you want just let me cum."

It was startling when Blaire's response to that was simply. "No you won't." The surprised lasted only the few seconds between those words being said and the next that Blaire uttered. "But you've been such a good boy." And Sebastian positively melted into that praise. "Go on, Sebastian. Go ahead and cum while thinking about me. Imagining me fucking you into that wall, with you begging for it. Go ahead and cum calling my name –  _would you kindly_?" The cruelty in his voice nearly punched the air out of Sebastian but it was the force of his climax that really did.

Sebastian's back arched up, pushing his chest into the wall as his hand stilled around his base, clenched too tight as he came. He'd later be disgusted by the warmth that spilled over his fingers and the ground but for that moment he saw nothing but white and stars. Panting heavily and just letting the tremors of his pleasure roll over him.

He didn't know exactly what he cried out as he came, but he was sure it must have been Jeremy's name. After all he was a good boy who did was he was told. The words broke down into a near incoherent string of the same word "Finally, finally, finally." God he'd needed it so bad, even more so than he first thought.

Then finally it all began to slow down. It could have been centuries between that moment and the gradual return of sense but Sebastian didn't care. He mourned the loss of that simple, mindless lull and upon his return to the real world he was greeted again with Jeremy's voice. "Easy now, Seb. Easy."

At fist he didn't understand why Blaire was saying those words, at least until his legs gave out and he ended up boneless against the wall he had been propped up against before. Sebastian felt like he was still very far away, not quite all there in his own head. All he wanted now was warmth, something around him and to keep listening to Blaire speak like that. Gentle, like he wasn't in trouble anymore. Like there wasn't any more pain to come.

"You're going to need a minute." Blaire continued, as though he knew exactly what Sebastian was feeling. Likely he did, he seemed to know everything else about him. "Now I know you're the clingy type and I don't particularly fancy you walking back to that rat pack of yours and cozying up to one of them, so stay right where you are, kid."

That sounded unpleasant, it was cold and he felt gross as the lustful haze faded. But still he found himself listening, gathering up the radio and holding it close like one might cradle a child. It wasn't the warm and soft contact he wanted, but Blaire's voice kept coming out of it in a quiet hum and so Sebastian managed with just that.

It didn't particularly matter in that moment that what he'd done was humiliating, or even that what he'd done was wrong. After all Blaire was likely still going to try and kill them and he certainly wasn't their ally – but Sebastian had needed it so badly and there was no other way to…

He wasn't sorry. Not yet. He would be come the morning, but for now Sebastian didn't have it in him to feel regret.

"You all there, kid?" Came the familiar question and something in Sebastian stirred, coming back to the surface when he didn't want to just yet. He mumbled something vaguely offensive into the radio, and Blaire hummed in quiet amusement. "There you are. Don't be forgetting this, Sinclair. I want you to remember this when you think you can get by on your own. You still need me, kid."

He didn't say it. Likely he knew it wasn't necessary that he did, but Sebastian heard the familiar sentiment ringing in his head all the same.

_I can't do this without you._


	6. Remaking Memories 1/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Second Chances
> 
> Part of him expected to wake up any moment, still bleeding out on the floor of the asylum.
> 
> If that happened, Blaire didn't know what he could do. Knowing the things he knew now, feeling the things he'd felt – there was too much he wouldn't know how to process if this all turned out to be a near death hallucination.
> 
> The answer, as it turned out, was fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record...

Jeremy had been here before.

So many times. The dark room, the towering shelves, polished floor and icy walls. Tight, sterile, so devoid of light that the rest of the world beyond its walls might as well have become a fantasy to those inside. And there he sat, waiting for the moment the bug would twitch again, would make the mistake of squirming while still ensnared.

He was angry.

Hot and sharp rushing through his mind, setting every nerve alight under his skin. Blaire was angry, but under the anger there was excitement. Giddy, unchecked, positively mirthful as he looked down onto Waylon Park's prone form sprawled out before him.

"Someone's been telling stories outside of class."

There's a sharp gasp of shock and then hands are upon the man.

"On the floor! Now! Hands where I can see them!"

The echo of Park hitting the ground bounced off the walls before giving way to the man's terrified gasps for air. His eyes were wildly as they looked between the devil by his side and the muscle standing between him and escape.

Vague insults, a charade of civility and a shattered computer at Park's feet. Blaire standing over him smiling coldly with a finger against his temple.

"Stupid, Mr. Park." Came the singsong words. "More than stupid, in fact….that was crazy."

Jeremy remembered this.

He'd already done this. Nothing could be changed if he willed now and so he watched as the words were said again.

"I'm afraid that we're going to have you commited." He hadn't been when the said those words. There was scarcely enough room left between his vicious glee and satisfaction for even the anger he'd felt towards their little whistleblower. There had been no fear.

But there was fear now as the words continued smoothly.

"Mr. Park, will you willingly submit to forced confinement? Did you hear that, agent?" He turns just like he had back then, faces the mountain of flesh between Park and freedom.

Waits for the mocking answer to be given, sees the man just beyond the first guard's shoulder shift as the guilt begins to tear away at him from inside. He'll pay for all his wrongdoings in time, he'll pay for it in flesh and blood – and that hand he currently uses to fist at his shirt as the shame becomes overwhelming will be taken as penance.

At his feet Park produces something like a whimper, pulls the leg that will one day be made of wood rather than bone closer to his chest as he stares at the suited devil that holds his life in its hands. Stares as it toys with that life for the few moments he has left.

Jeremy remembers what comes next.

"Great." And now the joy sounds genuine, the cruelty becoming less concealed as the smirk on his fast twists up horribly at the corners. "Oh, and... Did I just hear Mr. Waylon Park volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program?"

He had not.

At the time Walyon had not said a word.

"That was brave, indeed, Waylon." He would be brave. He would have no choice but to be brave in the end. "The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery and sacrifice."

Blaire's hardly even listening to his own lies as he glances back towards the security that had been brought with him in order to see that this little transition went smoothly. They'd not batted an eye when he'd directed them to linger back, waiting to trap their little bug in. Giving Blaire ample time to torment him before the end. He believed he'd earned that time for having put up with Park for as long as he had.

In time he'd have earned a different kind of reward for tolerating Waylon. One that had him doing the knot of a tie fifteen times and a cup of tar black coffee he didn't care for set in front of him. Things Blaire had no desire for.

But one day…

"Maybe you could administer Mr. Park here a light anesthetic?" It's cruel that he directs the question over the shoulder of the first man.

The first strike is delivered without a conscience, Blaire is unsatisfied. "Mr. Sinclair. If you would care to assist?"

The fist that comes crashing down onto the face of a friend will one day be taken from the man and Blaire knows that he'll feel the loss of it forever. But perhaps he will one day think it appropriate that the hand used to bruise his friend while the man looked up at him with pleas behind his tears, was torn from its socket. Rendered unable to ever harm an innocent again.

However it will also never be able to wind around the neck of the devil that watches with a smile as Park's consciousness it torn from him.

This has already been done. It had already happened.

_It is not happening now._

There's a gap. A pause where the memory should continue. Where the nightmare ought to progress but instead remains stationary. Blaire's satisfied smile drops with every passing second, the light behind his stare fizzling out for every moment that scene does not go on.

Because he remembers how it is supposed to go. He remembers perfectly having turned to the black haired guard at his shoes, remembers taking in his horrified stare as he looked onto his own two hands – baring a splash of red from where Park had bleed. Blaire knows what he said then, can perfectly recall the heaving of the man's shoulders as he fought down some nearly uncontrollable emotion. If he had to push down the urge to sob or attack Blaire was anyone's guess.

But the words that would pull that violent tremble from his broad shoulders were never spoken and the scene remained stoic.

Until it was changed.

"Sir?"

Blaire jolts, his entire body snapping upright as a bolt of something indescribable rushes through his body.

It's clarity. Sharp, unforgiving, overpowering -  _clarity_.

Because the nightmares spawned from a responsibility of a memory he couldn't shake are not nightmares at all. He is not remembering, he is living. Not observing but acting.

He takes a step back. That small physical motion breaks his muscles from their autopilot and it feels as though he's remerged from being encased in ice. The guard that is not a man destined to lose limb looks at him. Something that cannot be called concern twisting on his face as he is puzzled by the sudden fracture in the devil's façade. "Sir." He repeats again, slower, afraid of what he does not understand. "Are you alright?"

Waylon's body is limp as they haul it up and Jeremy sees Riley staying there on his knees, allowing the unconscious man to slip away from him even though it must kill a part of him to do so.

Park and Sinclair. Waylon and Riley.

Now and then. Then and  _now_.

"Stop." The word is wrong. Not what he'd said at the time but Jeremy's tongue obeys him now and he uses it to break from the script. "Not down to the engine." He receives strange looks, there's some kind of unease building among the group. Confusion breeding uncertainty. This was not how things usually went.

On his knees Riley stirs. Risks a glance back at the devil holding his leash. There's a dead look in those eyes that Jeremy wishes he could say he'd forgotten. It's the stare of a man waiting to see what new hell their abuser has come up with and accepting it before it has even been given.

He looks at the other men, similar stares. Similar levels of fear among them – the devil gives no breaks and so he must also be relentless.

Or that uncertainty will steal the control from his hands.

They think Murkoff the owners of hell and Blaire their devil, but he knows better. Hell is what this place will become. Murkoff cannot contain it anymore than Blaire can claim to be its keeper.

But they'll believe him the demon as he says the words he'll use to twist them. "I'm sorry, did I stutter?" Jeremy barks and they all retreat from Blaire's voice. "Take Park to my office." There's a pause, and for it takes a second for his voice to fall into a nearly forgotten sneer. "Mr. Sinclair." Rusty as he might be, the man still tenses at his name. "You remember the way there, surely."

Let him think it another punishment. The others exchange knowing glances. Some have enough humanity in them to look sorry for the poor bastard among them that Blaire singles out to torture. The rest take joy in knowing it is not them. The uncertainty vanishes and is replaced by understanding.

They think this another mockery. Another way to hurt a toy.

Riley follows his orders. The chains around his throat too tight for him to disobey and begins to gather Waylon up. Taking him from the two guards that had hoisted him up by his shoulders. Jeremy cannot see his face, but he knows the man has snarled at those two guards in the way their faces turn pale and Waylon is jerked from their grasp.

Seeming to think better of it Riley stops holding Waylon so close, so protective. Instead adopts a clinically cold approach but he cannot bring himself to throw Waylon over his shoulder in what would have been a perfect display of disinterest. Instead he cradles the man was keeps his eyes fixed right ahead of him.

And he does his job. Just as he always had.

Jeremy watches as Riley takes Waylon away and then turns his attention to Sullivan and the remaining men. "Now that our little tattle-tail problem has been dealt with… bring me the reports from the Engine. All of them." Again that surprise, but no uncertainty this time. Good. "I want two of you to go and collect Steven for me. Park is from his division, if there is a problem with any of the others I want it dealt with today. Pull the plug on whatever test they're running, drag whichever patient they have in the machine out and lock it all down until further notice."

They're scrambling. Not physically, not yet. But in their eyes Jeremy can see the men trying to figure out the fastest way to get him the results he wants. The best way to go about looking out for their own skin.

"Oh." He pauses before looking back at Sullivan. "And get me Wernicke on the phone."

"Sir? I…why…?" It takes little more than a cold stare to silence and questions he might have and change his tone. "Understood, Mr. Blaire, right away."

Given their jobs the worker bees disperse, Quickly, frantically, whispering among themselves as they leave their master to the dark.

As the door clicks shut behind the last of them, Jeremy's gaze momentarily drops to the shattered computer. The email he'd once thought had failed to send already long gone and out of his hands. Miles would—

 _Miles_.

It's like a horrible chain reaction. With each name that passes his mind another comes flying right in after it, unearthed by the connections his brain rapidly makes. Piecing together the nightmare he'd already seen.

Waylon - the email.

The email - Miles.

Miles - the fall of Murkoff.

The fall of Murkoff – the end.

Just like that it all suddenly becomes so real. Jeremy's legs go weak and he nearly drops down to the floor by the broken screen. Instead he slumps against the wall, unable to hold himself upright any longer. One hand pressed desperately over his face even as he stares wide eyed at his other hand through the gaps in his fingers.

He'd just spoken. Acted on instinct once he realised he could act at all. He'd sent Riley away with Waylon to some place safe for a few minutes.

Now he realizes what he's done. Waylon will never enter the engine program. He will never been plugged into the machine that nearly rips his sanity from him.

The engine….everything else.

_Everyone else._

A second jolt flies down Jeremy's spine, his hand wrenching away from his face as he's shocked back into the present. No more time left to wonder and he's moving again. Quickly, with purpose as his mind rushes to make all the connections, to remember all the details he'd once tried to force from his mind.

And he's talking. Muttering under his breath as he stalks down the halls, ignoring the few scared workers he passes. In his memory he'd stopped to enjoy their nervousness, still drunk on the adrenaline rush tormenting Park had left him with. Now he has no time for them, has too many things that need his attention immediately.

He's running out of time.

"Mr. Blaire!" It's Steven rushing up to him, looking frazzled as he looks between Blaire and the hand he has outstretched back in the direction of the engine. The two jar heads that had been sent to escort him lingering a few steps behind, always watching. "What is the meaning of this?" He demands frantically. "We just placed Gluskin into-"

Gluskin – Waylon's lost leg.

"There's been a serious breech of security." He breaks in sharply. Voice cold enough it could have very well been the same ice Blaire spoke with. "If anything comes of it, you'll be held accountable. As for Gluskin…"

Kill him. Erase the possibility he could cause Waylon to fall and injure his leg.

_He's just a person too._

"As for Gluskin, he's not a viable subject for project Walrider. Remove him from it this instant. We'll deal with that cluster fuck later. For now focus on not getting fired."

"But…but y-you can't just…!" He sputters, nervous but indignant enough to almost argue. He catches himself at the last moment. "Hope is the only other subject that has the slightest chance of successfully completing the project, is it really wise to bank everything on him?"

Billy – the Walrider.

"No more tests until I can be sure your team isn't going to put a massive hole into the plan. Murkoff will abide by slight delays, they will not abide by security infractions. Now you put Gluskin back into his hole and close down the engine for the day while I sort your mess out or you'll be on the receiving end of Murkoff's frustrations."

The threat is real and Steven is afraid. Jeremy almost pities him, but he supposes that this might be better than the slaughter he might be a part of. Deserving or not.

He leaves Steven slack jawed and at a loss for how to proceed behind him. The second person to come to Blaire is one of his security, sent by Sullivan in a hurry it would seem. "S-Sir," He gasps for air, Blaire waits for him to get the words out even as his patience wears thin. He has no time. "It's the Warden sir, they're coming back around and-"

A dart he'd fired – the Warden.

The Warden – the patients  _all of them._

He needs moretime _._

"If they need to be sedated do it." He snaps. "I don't want them to be able to so much as lift a finger without my say so." There's only so many different loose ends he can balance at once and Jeremy's mind is already trying to account for them all.

Riley and Waylon in his office. Gluskin and the Warden in their cages. Miles and the Walrider well on their way to arriving. Murkoff and Wernicke too close to setting the slaughter into motion. Rick and Sebastian…

Rick and Seb _– screaming their lungs out._

"What about the rest of them?" Blaire asks, catching the guard by surprise. His impatience slips into the irritated snarl of his voice. "The patients. What about the rest of them? Tell me who is scheduled for today."

"Oh. Um." He pauses, collects the names in his head and the first words out of the young guard's mouth trouble Blaire. "Andrew is doing the rounds today." He explains with a helpless kind of shrug. "Setting up the projectors."

He's stranded.

Standing there with so many branching paths laid out in front of him and no idea where to begin.

Should he take the one that will lead him to Park and Riley who no doubt believe he'll come to them as a jailor. Perhaps he ought to follow the path that takes him down, to be faced with the results of all his cruelties on the slim hope that maybe the damage can be undone. Or does he swallow all of he desires and go for what seems most logical, make that call to Wernicke and stall what experiments he can.

It feels as though if he sets down one the others will inevitably becomes blocked to him. What had once been a horrible memory set in stone is now fluid, changeable and infinitely more terrifying. There's room for so much improvement but there's also room for unspeakable loss.

Those few goods things he'd collected in a future that might not even exist anymore could be stolen away from him should these new paths lead to dead ends he couldn't begin to imagine.

Stupid little things that had seemed so trivial now made precious with the thought that they may never come to fruition.

A cup of shitty coffee, a smile only he sees, birthdays for boys that he now knows, the feeling of a place that is not only a house but a home.

The fear of losing them is nearly overpowering and it leaves Jeremy standing at the crossroads, too scared to step onto any given path. He can't go down them all.

There's not enough  _time_.

But behind the fear of losing…there's a glimmer of something. He is not optimistic enough to call it hope; it is greed that's twisting inside of Jeremy now.

Greed has him looking down each pathway to see if he can find the right combination to get all he wants.

Once upon a time he'd done something similar, looking at the ladder to the position he held now. That ladder looks so flimsy and rickety to him now that even with the considerable pay he would never again set foot on it.

Finally Jeremy takes a step. He can't say for sure which of the paths he's crossing first, all he knows is that it must be forward.

It's strange, he reflects as he marches quickly for his office with barely a glance at that confused guard, to not be afflicted by the many aches and pains he'd come to know. Glancing down Jeremy is honestly taken off guard by seeing how smooth his skin looks as it is now. Not a single scar against his flesh, not so much as a hint of the horrors he'd experienced.

Horrors that might not happen if he can find that miracle combination and he wonders if it'll be the same without them.

Jeremy retrieves his phone from the inside of his jacket pocket. He's almost surprised by how natural it feels after so long without having owned this particular phone. It takes a moment of fiddling as he walks but eventually he unearths the number he needs.

He's never called it before, having planned to go and see the woman in person once the deed was done. Another change to their original script.

When Lisa Park answers her phone she does so with the usual astuteness that Jeremy had come to expect of her. He almost smiles before catching himself in the act.

"Mrs. Park?" It's phrased like a question and Jeremy waits for the confirmation he does not need to hear. Her voice is unmistakable but until this day he shouldn't have heard it before. "Hello miss, it's…" He pauses, adjusts his tone. Too suspicious of the ears in the walls to be overly casual, at least not while out in the open.

Jeremy picks up the pace, making a beeline for his office. Truthfully he cannot say it's any safer, it's a façade of security but it's the best he has for the time being. "My name is Jeremy Blaire, I represent the Murkoff corporation—Yes, yes. This is about your husband."

He's cut off by the woman's angry voice cracking from the other side of the phone. This time he does smile. Can't help the slight upward twitch in his expression. Lisa sounds livid, already has some choice words for him.

"Yes. You're quite right." He agrees mildly to her furious accusations and the level tone surprises Lisa into a moment of silence. It's long enough for him to interject his own words. They're rather different from the ones he'd thought the first time around.

_A two week contract, it wasn't that difficult a task was it?_

"It has been too long since you spoke to your husband."

_It must be difficult for you. But try to be reasonable. You stupid fuck._

"It really has been. Mr Park…Waylon misses you dearly."

Now she is confused, not sure what to make of this unusual contact from the company that has kept her husband so firmly gagged. "What are you calling for?" Suspicion, well he cannot fault her for that. "Is…is Waylon okay?"

Jeremy doesn't tell her that he will be. Doesn't promise that he's going to save the poor bastard he had once damned. He cannot make a promise like that; there are still too many paths that he cannot see down.

So instead Jeremy simply replies. "I'm afraid not…but I believe he could be. However, for that I need something from  _you_  Mrs. Park."

That's good he decides. Sounds just like something the devil would say. Manipulative, but not condemning. It left itself open to all kinds of interpretations and with Blaire's reputation it would inevitably be taken to be something immoral. That would buy a bit more time for them.

It's a relief when he finally enters his office, opening the door only to be a touch surprised when he finds Riley standing in his designated place.

Distantly he recalls Riley having always stood there when called into the devil's den. Hands ridged behind his back as he stands like a statue before the desk and there slumped in the chair at his side is Waylon. Still well and truly unconscious, the blood one his face as started to cake around his nose and mouth. It's disgusting but it's a shallow injury – not one he'll carry like the nightmares he could be inflicted with.

The moment of surprise passes and Jeremy relaxes, shutting and locking the door behind him. Riley takes this to be a threatening action and he sees the muscles under the man's flesh tightening. He'd almost forgotten how big Riley had been, how sturdy he was. Good, they may be in need of brute strength like his.

Now safely within his own domain Jeremy rounds the desk, sparing Park another quick glance. He notices a black eye forming but this too is mostly ignored, shrugged off as an injury he will heal from quickly. Not worth the time it would take to ice it. Not while they're on such a tight schedule.

As he drags out old files on the patients Jeremy is only half listening to Lisa's questions and all but completely ignoring Riley's following eyes. He is confused by this behaviour but not brave enough to speak out just yet. "Yes, yes. Mrs Park please…" He growls in frustration when Lisa keeps going, the familiar ring of her insults beginning to become a distraction from the present rather than a fond memory from the past.

"Lisa stop talking for a moment!" He snaps, it's unintentional but Jeremy is occupied by riffling through the files, looking for a specific set and the words just slip out. A habitual familiarity he'd not yet shaken. "For god's sake woman I am trying to tell you something important here. Stop barking at me!"

There's silence.

Blaire realizes a second later that it's not only Lisa's lack of retort that makes the air feels so heavy.

Glancing up he sees Riley's wide stare on him. Looking as though he's never laid eyes on him before.

Cursing under his breath Jeremy continues to go through the papers, setting one aside every now and then. If he barely has the time to stop and explain the situation to  _himself_  then he sure as shit doesn't have time to slow down and explain what's happening to Riley.

"Look I know you're looking into a lawsuit against Murkoff – of course I know." He scoffs. "It's my job to know. No I'm not calling to threaten…oh for fuck's sake.  _Lisa_!" Again a silence. More stunned then the last. More time for him to speak. "If you want to compile evidence against Murkoff I have a – and I believe this is the scientific term for it – a metric shit ton of dirt on them."

He hears Riley choking in front of him but doesn't so much as glance at him this time. Too absorbed in listening to Lisa's curiosity peaking as looking down at the few files he'd gathered. Jeremy thinks that's all of them, the patients he remembers to be the most…troubling during the slaughter. A few here he knows to hold some specific connections to other patients. The Warden in particular can be tricky but their connection to the patients might just tip the scales if they can only convince them not to shred every single one of them on sight.

It was like lining up pieces on a chessboard, being careful to make sure he didn't expose even a single pawn to the other side for risk it might unhinge the queen. Their particular queen was temperamental at best, and had a grudge deep enough that they might just turn on the king if handled poorly. Jeremy thought the answer to this problem to be one of their castles.

The Warden needs Walker. Gluskin – for as disgusting and wretched as he is to Blaire – is a requirement for one of their key players just as Jeremy assumes he might be himself for another. Riley and Waylon too are important, all of these sentimental attachments stringing them together…and he'd scoffed at the notion only months earlier.

"You said your name is Blaire?" Lisa's voice breaks through to him again. "You're an executive right? Why are you…?"

"To be perfectly honest with you – I'm likely insane." Jeremy admits readily with a shrug. "I've been through enough with Murkoff to believe that either I've gone off the deep end or what I think is happening right now is actually happening… either way I wouldn't be surprised. At the end of the day I don't think it really matters. Even if I am a certified nutjob – I know where Murkoff's path leads and I don't think you'd fancy letting your husband go down it."

Jeremy catches a soft groan of pain and recognizing it as Waylon's voice looks up at the man. He's barely conscious, shifting sluggishly in his seat. Good timing Park – might be the first time he ever had it.

"If it'll help you understand, I'll put your husband on the phone. To prove I'm not feeding you bullshit. But…I'm not sure how coherent he'll be. Took a bit of a beating earlier."

Lisa agrees so fast Jeremy barely gets to finish the offer before he's thrusting the phone towards Waylon.

The man flinches, stares at the thing being pushed into his face and then sluggishly turns his gaze up towards the man holding it.

When he sees its Blaire he nearly screams.

The sound gets caught in his throat and Waylon is choking. Jeremy does not have time for this. "Take the damn phone, Park. It's your wife." He hesitates just that bit too long and Jeremy's patience is finally gone.

Snatching Waylon's hand he forces the phone into his palm harshly, ignoring how Waylon cringes away from him and begins to look wildly around. When he sees Riley there's that flash of pain again, betrayal and Riley looks away from him but then Waylon is staring back down at the phone, confusing chasing away the fear.

"W-Wha…?" He begins and Jeremy's growl shuts him up a moment later.

"Park, put that phone to your fucking ear and talk to your wife." He hisses angrily. "Been two weeks, you must have something useful to say to her. Christ, tell her about Murkoff being a bunch of thunderfucks – I don't give a damn. Just  _speak_."

He stumbles again, looking blearily between Blaire – who is behaving in a way he has simply never seen before – and the phone. Then slowly, as though he dares not believe, Waylon brings the phone to his ear and whispers Lisa's name.

The sob that escapes his throat upon hearing her cry his name back joyfully almost stops Blaire again. He casts a look over his shoulder at Waylon as the man breaks down; sobbing apologies he sure as hell doesn't need to be giving.

He's shaking, whimpering and falling apart – Jeremy smiles again and this time does not bother curbing the look.

One day Waylon might just thank him for this. If they made it out alive of course.

While Waylon openly weeps into the phone. So torn apart by confusion and relief he doesn't know how to function, Jeremy turns his attention back to the other paths he must walk to get what he wants. In his hands he holds the chosen patient files.

Flicking through them he notices a few things will need notes of his own. With so little time he begins to hastily scribble instructions and reminders onto the black backs of the papers. Those little lines of red become the representation of the strings binding them. They have to be careful to sever none of them or they'll begin to lose pieces to the other side's pawns.

It's while he's making a note about the little shit priest there's a quiet murmur from behind him. "What are you doing?" Riley's voice is so soft he nearly misses it and when Jeremy does look back at the man, he sees Riley is shaking.

"What are you  _doing_?" He repeats, voice strained with some unexplainable emotion.

Perhaps Jeremy could have enjoyed that. Seeing how this sudden change in him had broken Riley's mind that little bit more. Left him at a loss for what to do and maybe it was his personal dislike for the man that drove him to answer with. "I lied to you, Riley."

He flinches upon hearing his first name. So rarely being addressed by it now days and almost never from Blaire. "I lied straight to your face and I laughed when your back was turned." Jeremy continued with a careless shrug. "I'm sure you're not all that surprised, it is what I do after all."

He understands quickly. "M-my brother…" The words become too painful for Riley to continue saying and after a moment of what must have been agony, the man changes his question. " _How long_?" He's smart enough not to ask why, to instead just ask for the extend of the damage.

There's a twist of something painful inside of Blaire's chest when he answers. "Too long." And holds out Sebastian's patient file to Riley. Weeks earlier it would have been an employee file.

He takes it with trembling fingers and nearly tears the paper in two until he sees the splash of red ink on the back in Jeremy's hasty writing. Then the anger drops away and all that remains is the confusion and the fear. "Do I want…? Of course I am willing to help him." He answers the written question, staring at Blaire like he'd gone mad.

Maybe he had. Wouldn't be too strange to think so. Fortunately he didn't care. Fractured as this reality might be, it was the only one he had and so there were no excuses for hesitating.

He did not hesitate.

"Good." Jeremy nods sharply and then hands over a few more papers to Riley. He pretends not to notice when Riley winces seeing Trager's picture among the papers. "We have an extraordinarily shitty window of opportunity to work in here. Going to be a miracle to make this work. But maybe… maybe if we do this right we might just be able to do just that. Now, I'm going to need you to become a bit of an actor for me. Shouldn't be too hard, just look as miserable and angry as you always do and it should fit."

"Why…?" Riley begins finally falling onto the question they didn't have time to address and Jeremy stops him before the interrogation can begin to really fly into motion.

"Don't ask questions Riley." Jeremy advised flatly. "The answers wouldn't make sense to you…and even if they did it wouldn't change a thing. This changes nothing."

Blaire was still the monster who stole away their lives. Still the devil that pulled them down into this hell. Nothing changed that. "Do as I say and hopefully we all walk away from this alive."

To Riley's credit he does stop speaking and instead reads the red ink that Jeremy had put down onto the paper for him. His expression becoming stormier with every second as he attempts to push aside the confusion and focus on this new job.

He'd always been able to do it before and Jeremy is confident he'll be successful again today.

Turning back towards Park Jeremy holds his hand out for the phone. Waylon curls a bit in the chair, holding it closer to his person. There's no time for his fear to get in the way. "Hand it over Park." He snarls. "I need your wife's brains for a second, stop sniveling." Then after a second passes without compliance Jeremy sighs and adds. "I'll give it back to you, I only need a word with Lisa."

Like Riley there's confusion but Waylon knows his position is bleak. Even if Blaire is playing some sick new joke there's no way out for him and so he hands over the phone. Jeremy is pleased although not at all surprised when Lisa is more composed than her husband.

"What do you want?" She starts sharply and then abruptly changes her question. "No. What do you  _need_? You said you needed my help, so what do you need?"

Clever woman. Jeremy smirks as he begins to rattle of a few basic details. They'd need Lisa primed and ready to go at a moment's notice. Then while Lisa goes to retrieve a pen and slip of paper to note down what Jeremy is telling her, he glances back at Waylon.

"You still have Upshur's email?" He asks. The question gets a jump of fright from Waylon who again stares at him as though he had gone mad. "There's no chance in hell we can send him anything else from the asylum, I told you before Waylon – that was  _stupid_. You stupid fucking—never mind. Your wife however can contact him safely, so we need the email. Do you have it?"

He does and Jeremy is satisfied. "Good. Tell it to Lisa. Upshur is the type to come in gun's blazing but if he wants real information he's going to need to do better than that. Fortunately Murkoff keeps a rather extensive record of all their sins. Film most of it themselves, so worst case scenario we give those to Upshur. But I want him on sight, god knows he'll put that camera of his to good use. Besides, we'll likely need the extra hands."

He has to stop when Lisa returns, quickly turning his attention back to the instructions he can give her. Jeremy knows that this is ludicrously dangerous. His phone is by no means secure; the company will be able to hear all of his transgressions if they care to take a look.

Jeremy prays they are not looking today. They only have a few hours as it is, he doesn't need that time made shorter by Murkoff catching onto them early.

Fortunately Murkoff trusts him as much as a company can trust the snake in their garden. He'd spent his entire life biting others for them, been the perfect, subordinate dog. Satisfied with his work, eager to do more. They wouldn't be the slightest bit suspicious of him and Jeremy planned to play on that for as much time as he could get out of it.

He's an executive sure, but he's just as expendable as Waylon. Just as expandable as Trager.

Trager…

"Park. Take this." He instructs, throwing the phone back to Waylon who damn near drops it. The clumsy bastard. "Give her everything you can, Riley you'll be in charge of minding Waylon and those papers. They'll be asking after him eventually, make something up. I'm sure you can think of some damning lies about whatever torture I'm putting Park through. Say whatever you like to buy for time."

"For the record…" Riley begins, pocketing the carefully folded files. "I don't trust you…and I think you're going to kill us. But…if my brother is already in that machine…then there's nothing left to lose on this."

Pessimism at its finest.

Jeremy smirks and shrugs. "Think of it like this. Even if I'm lying – we're all dead if Murkoff catches on."

Nodding solemnly Riley looks to Waylon and musters up the tiniest smile. He speaks like a dead man walking but there's some hope growing behind those previously dead eyes. "You think there's any chance this will work?" He asks uncertainly and Jeremy hesitates.

Because  _no_  he's not and it must have been the first time Riley has ever experienced Blaire being truthful with him.

"No." He admits. "But I think it's the only chance we have."

Taking this in Riley nods with a small sigh. "Then we'll do it." There's a slight apology in his tone when he speaks to Waylon next. "You're not opposed to orange one suit pieces are you?"

And despite everything, Jeremy laughs when seeing Waylon go pale.

They were all going to fucking die down here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This tiny AU was made as a kind of apology to a friend of mine for being so bloody mean.


	7. Remaking Memories 2/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was more to this nice little AU but it got too long as it was so we're leaving it here. 
> 
> Also it occurs to me that I am too nice. Maybe we need more dismemberment? This IS Outlast after all...I've been too generous.

Getting Riley and Waylon on board was perhaps the easiest part of this little suicidal endevour he'd embarked on.

Granted both men were in no position to refute him. Riley had been securely under his thumb until the asylum devolved into a mess of screaming lunatics and bodies. This was something of an upgrade and while there was still hesitation behind his every stare, that look that said he was just waiting for the punch line to come, he was more than willing to do what he was told on the slim chance that his brother would be returned to him.

Waylon was in a far more stressful position. Riley's fear had already been realised, everything from here on became damage control for him, but for Waylon his family was still very much on the line.

But what would Blaire have to gain from lying? That was the argument that kept them all going even when there were ten thousand questions burning in their minds.

He'd answer them all later, maybe. Honestly Jeremy did not feel any great need to explain himself, saw his truth as something of an obstacle they could completely bypass. They'd only be more skeptical if he told them about coffee therapy meet ups and how he now knew the inner workings of a dishwasher due to Waylon's carelessness. It was a complication they didn't need to deal with, all they needed to know was that they were fucked if Blaire didn't help them – and for whatever reason he kept to himself, he  _was_  helping.

Having primed Lisa to work outside of the asylum as best she could and get into contract with Upshur before he could get himself killed, Jeremy was left to manage things inside of the asylum.

Their first piece was being moved into place with a knight at its side. "You sure about this?" Riley asked, it was the closest he'd gotten to vocalizing his uncertainty since they began. His nervousness reared its head only now, when Waylon was adorning the patient uniform and they'd be heading down. "What if we get stopped?"

"Unlikely." Jeremy was barely paying attention to his own answer, more focused on the final email he was typing up. He distantly wondered if Waylon had typed his message to Upshur like this – disconnected and accepting. Unlikely, he probably trembled through every letter. "Even if any of them had the spine to ask what we are doing," Extraordinarily unlikely already given how the workers shied away from his very presence. "They'll be expecting Park at the engine and I highly doubt they'll find you being there all that strange. It's your job to do what I demand of you after all and I've made something a hobby seeing pests like him dealt with."

There was a noticeable drop in the mood. Jeremy could all but feel Riley's scowl settling on his back and he didn't particularly blame him. It might have been a relic of the past, but Jeremy found himself unable to resist probing at Riley's open wounds. "You know people tend to ramble a lot down there." He should have stopped there. "I hear your brother likes pretzels an ungodly amount."

"You fucking bastard-!"

Riley reached out, fully intent of strangling Blaire right then and there only for Waylon to quickly get between them. "Riley, calm down!" He flinched violently away from Riley, a instinctual reaction after having experienced first hand how painful a punch from the man could be, but still Waylon kept the peace as best he could. The sight of Waylon cringing away from him fear was sobering and even though his anger continued to boil and seethe inside of his gut, Riley relented.

"I…I don't like it either." Waylon began shakily and there was a genuine note of disbelief in his voice. He was protecting Jeremy – flipping- Blaire for god's sake. Hell had surely frozen over. "But we can't fight right now…punch him when this is over."

"Charming, Park." Blaire drawled with a roll of his eyes just before the final click of his mouse signaled the end of his work on the computer.

Jeremy had barely paid any attention to the scuffle behind him. Had Riley hit him Jeremy would not have been all that put out, after all he'd felt a slight pang of regret after he'd spoken. But of course he refused to let the other two men know that. Instead he turned to glance at them again, sizing up Waylon's patient attire. Now there was a memory he'd once held close to his person. "It's passable." He decided approaching Waylon with a scrutinizing stare. "Could rough you up a little more to really sell it but…well I guess playing around isn't the highest priority right now."

He was genuinely confused when Waylon looked scared. That's right, his threats still held water here. Jeremy never thought he was miss that tolerant look Waylon would have given him had he said the same thing in the world he remembered.

Biting back the swell of disappointment, Jeremy instead turned his attention to the job at hand. "As I am in fact a regular down in that wretched place I won't be with you two for long. Riley, you'll take Waylon to Andrew's more than capable hands. Once he's been dropped off you'll have a small window of opportunity…locate Billy Hope. Kill him or drag him out of his chamber, I don't care. Just remove him from any opportunity to connect with Walrider. Unfortunately Waylon, you'll be dead weight until Riley comes back for you. Just grit your teeth and deal with whatever happens until he gets back. Once you're both clear I want you to get Hope out of the building. If Upshur is half as competent as you seem to think Waylon he'll be there to collect you."

It was not a difficult role to play and Jeremy was positive Riley would get the results they needed. But even so…this was one hell of a long shot. Optimism was never his strong suit and Jeremy was eighty percent sure they were all about to die, but what he lacked in optimism he more than made up for in spite fueled persistence.

And Murkoff inspired an unparalleled level of spite in him.

"Oh and," Jeremy stopped at the door to glance back at Waylon with one last parting word of advice. ",try not to go insane." Was Blaire's stunning piece of encouragement as Waylon was lead off by Riley. Looking a little too pale for comfort. Although if he passed out it was really no great loss to them, might make a better actor unconscious.

The walk to the holding cells was a silent one.

Blaire walked like a man on a power trip with a trophy to hang on his wall, an act that was surprisingly easy to fall into. At his heels Waylon was practically radiating his nervousness – fortunate fo them all it perfectly fit his position right now. Fear was an acceptable emotion to be feeling while in his shoes. Riley was perhaps the most difficult to pass off, but he was stoic as always. The mask he put in place to hide his fear was no different to the mask he wore to hide how hard the weight of his own betrayal hit him. No one that knew Riley's position was Blaire's personal pincushion would so much as bat an eye.

Once they reached what would become Waylon's temporary home, it was time to part ways. Only then did Riley break the silence. "You're going to get us killed." He hissed under his breath as Waylon's transfer to Murkoff's 'care' was being processed and Jeremy's smile only widened – yeah. He probably was. "But if you come back without my brother,  _I_  will kill you."

"Promises, promises, Riles." Blaire positively purred, getting a sharp glare from the man at his side. Then after a moment passed he added. "If I come back without your brother, I'll give you my gun to do it." Jeremy didn't get to see Riley's reaction to that as he turned away and walked towards the old holding cells he'd frequented in the past.

His first stop would be one he had never come to see in person and it held what would likely be the central piece to this little game.

And they'd probably kill him on sight.

The Warden did not look nearly as miserable as they ought to. Having been shot with a tranquilizer dart should have left them groggy and uncoordinated for quite some time. But rather than being unkempt and frantic, the Warden was still as a statue and looked about as cold as one. Despite himself Jeremy felt a rush of fear at seeing them again, even with the glass between them.

They must have known he was there, the Warden was a freak in ways the other patients couldn't begin to imagine. Jeremy didn't doubt for a second that they were aware of his existence, but he wasn't sure if they were ignoring him or simply sizing up the best way to pay him back for his transgression. After all it had been his finger that pulled the trigger.

"Warden."

His voice betrayed him. Nearly breaking on the single word, his mouth was dry and Jeremy found himself clenching and unclenching his fists. There was no answer, barely even a twitch from the figure in the cell. But he had to keep speaking, had to push through his fear on the slim chance that this would work.

They didn't have the luxury to waste the time it would take for him to gather his nerves. "Warden I— _we_  need your help." This time there was a response. So minute that Jeremy was almost sure he'd imagined the slight shift in the silent figure's shoulders. "You're the one the patients listen to, you know them…they trust you. Even that monster Gluskin doesn't cross you…we need you the manage them. Otherwise the whole place is going to go to shit the moment the doors open."

"We." The Warden's voice sent a second icy shill down Jeremy's spine. They did not sound tired, or sore, they barely even sounded interested. Just cold,  _angry_. "You expect me to help you and Murkoff?"

"No." Jeremy denied flatly. "Not Murkoff. You give a damn about these people. I don't, I'd happily leave them to burn when Murkoff's clean up crew comes running but they'd be one more piece to bring Murkoff to the ground. "Murkoff is going to go into lock down the moment they realise things are not as they should be. If they think it's too far out of their control they'll burn this place to the ground with everyone inside. But if all the patients are released, it'll become a slaughter. It's all about balance…and we don't exactly have a lot of time to find it."

"You're lying."

"Oh for heaven's sake, I don't have the time to convince you-!"

"You're lying about your reason for thinking of the patients."

There was an dispute forming on Jeremy's tongue but it died there, realising how futile it was to argue the point. The Warden was a freak sure as shit, but they were uncanny in the way they could just know these things. Finally Jeremy relented and rather than make some flimsy argument he simply said. " _My_  reason doesn't matter.  _You_  want to help them, I can help you do that. I don't think you need much more incentive than that."

He must have been the stupidest man on the planet, because for as much as he did not care for the patients – he knew someone who did.

Only then did the Warden properly move. Rising to their full height off the shoddy bed that sat at the back of the cell. Even standing straight as a board, the Warden was a good head shorter than Jeremy, and yet they still easily loomed. Something about the way they carried themselves made it seem as though they were larger than life. There was something too similar to the Walrider in how the Warden unsettled Jeremy. Jeremy had to make a conscious effort not to shrink away even with the glass between them.

Turning to face him the Warden's face was unreadable, just as it always was. Impassive to the very end. "And what makes you think I will not kill you the moment the glass between us in removed?"

"You might." Jeremy replied, able to feel his hands shaking. He feared death just like anyone else – but he feared failure far more. "However if you do fixing this dumpster fire becomes your problem. I can only give you so many of the access codes verbally but I'm sure you'll find a way around that."

They were staring at him now. The Warden's gaze was impenetrable, keeping Jeremy frozen in place as they sized him up. He felt fairly sure that the Warden would kill him, but he was also fairly sure they'd do all they could to save the patients. That included those few that Jeremy was attempting to help and so he could not be all that dissatisfied with that end to this.

"I don't recognize you." Warden said quietly. "You're not the Blaire I know."

And despite everything turning to shit around them, Jeremy couldn't help but laugh upon hearing that. The Warden expression did not change as he laughed and when Jeremy looked back at them, a nasty smirk plastered on his face they still did not so much as blink. "Well would you look at that, finally we have something in common."

With that Jeremy bit the proverbial bullet and swiped his access key over the keypad at the Warden's door. The mechanical whirl of the door being unlocked hissed and groaned as the glass slid back, almost as though it was protesting this breech in protocol.

As the Warden stepped out of the now useless cell, Jeremy tensed. Waiting for the moment he would find his heart being torn from his chest and suddenly although he'd come to terms with dying right then and there should it play out that way, all he could think about was running. Taking their time the Warden looked around, straightened out their clothes and then finally laid eyed on Blaire again.

The silence was oppressive and Jeremy dared not even breath.

Then they spoke. "Many of the patients are in no condition to be released." The Warden said flatly. "They'll tear one another apart if they're all released at once."

He wasn't going to die.

_He wasn't going to die._

Relieved Jeremy let out a shuddering breath he had been holding and then flew into a somewhat nervous explanation. He told them about Riley's job, Waylon's position, his own jobs one of which he'd successfully carried out now that the Warden was free and then finally what they needed them to do.

"Walker?" The Warden murmured thoughtfully. "I suppose…." They seemed a little skeptical but Jeremy had expected as much.

"Walker is a powerhouse and he listens to  _you_." Jeremy replied sharply, but he didn't have enough time to stop and argue the point. The Warden would do whatever they saw fit, he could only hope they'd take what he'd said in and use it accordingly. "Wernicke is going to be a problem. This little project is his life's work and he'll happily end all of ours to keep it." The delusional old bastard thought there was something of worth here. Murkoff believed it too, but they thought they could simply bump off the old man – the man that the Walrider's host thought was his father. The fools had damned them all the first time around, and Jeremy did not plan to make the same mistake by attacking Wernicke.

But as soon as those few they needed to get clear were out – Jeremy was more than happy to let the rest of the asylum turn red with blood again. He knew every name. Every face. Anyone that was worth anything, anyone that was even the slightest bit like Waylon or Sinclair or even idiots like Riley – they would be spared so long as they did this right.

And the rest? Well the media needed something gory to record now didn't they?

Hey Jeremy thought he was saintly compared to what he used to be. He'd not lose a wink of sleep over the rest of them.

"Wernicke is a manageable problem." The Warden said simply and there was a finality to their tone that Jeremy did not dare question. One less thing for him to think about.

"Good. Once you're done there should be cars around the back of the asylum, just beyond the trees." He trusted Lisa to get the transport to them, he did not trust Upshur to not do something stupid and get them all killed.

The cost of this plan was knowing that people would die. Jeremy did not dare think they'd be able to save everyone. Some of the patients were truly too far gone and many of them would have to stay in their cells or they'd put everyone else at risk. The Warden was no bleeding heart, they'd know who best to free and who ought to stay put…at least for the time being.

"I'll leave you to it." Jeremy muttered, more than ready to be away form the Warden, their existence still set his every nerve on edge. The fear would never truly leave him but he didn't have to stay close to them and make it worse.

He got all of three steps before the Warden' spoke again. "Dr. Trager has been moved." He announced, stopping Blaire dead. "You mean to find him don't you? His cell will be empty. If you want him, you'll find him in the screening rooms."

"Shit." That was in the opposite direction of the only other cell he needed to visit. In fact if he'd only known that earlier he could have added Trager to Riley's list of things to do.

Cursing again, louder Jeremy began to pace. Trying to rework the plan to fit in this slight time shift. He caught the Warden's eye and for the first time since meeting them he could actually read the question in their eyes. "I am supposed to get to Sinclair first and-"

"The therapist?"

"Yes the bleeding therapist!" He should not have snapped at the Warden. Should have had more self preservation instinct than that, but Jeremy was beginning to panic. He'd already accounted for so much, stretched the timeframe as thinly as he could. This felt like the final straw, he was sure that if he tried to do both they'd be properly out of time and they'd run the risk of losing everything.

And part of him was beginning to blame Sinclair for it.

"Oh sure he can clear the asylum in an hour just looking for me but he can't-" Jeremy stopped. Backtracked, repeated what he'd just said and then had the most horribly wonderful idea. Suicidal surely but also a time saver – well that seemed like a fair trade off.

"I need you to release Sinclair. Knowing him he'll probably be  _thrilled_  it's you at his cell door rather than me. He would like someone like you, god damn bleeding heart that he is." Jeremy said quickly. Already turning back towards the path that would lead him to the screening rooms and Trager. The path that would lead him away from Sinclair's cell. That was fine, it would be a head start.

"He'll come looking for you."

"Exactly what I'm counting on."

…  
…

It seemed only half the screening rooms were in operation that day. Primarily because they'd been putting so much weight on Billy's progress. Why prepare more vessels when they were so close to having one that was perfected? Only the newly admitted patients seemed to be in them today and Jeremy spared a thought for Waylon – likely he'd be experiencing it for the first time himself.

It was fine. Riley would come back for him. Jeremy believed that.

Finding Trager was a disturbingly easy task. Just follow the screaming.

Once upon a time Jeremy had lingered outside of this same room and listened to the screams of a man he destroyed. He'd stood there and listened without ever once thinking perhaps he could put a stop to it. Why would he even entertain such a thought when all that mattered was the progress of the project. When all that mattered was Murkoff's security.

But he'd stayed all the same. Stood there and listened as piece-by-piece the man he'd known was picked apart and the thing left in his place was the shell of what he had been. Twice he'd done this and neither the calls of help me or I'm sorry stirred him. But just once he'd hesitated. When Trager had shouted his name, the last time he heard the man speak it.

He'd hesitated. But only for a moment and then he left the man he's called friend behind.

But today he did not stand outside the screening room, with his back pressed to the wall– never bold enough to look but always cold enough to listen. Today he did not take that position and instead his feet carried him inside the room, passing the threshold he'd never been brave enough to cross in the past.

The doctor in attendance was standing in front of the body strapped into place, a camera facing them both so it could capture each and every scream. Surprised by their unexpected third party, the doctor glanced up from his work fastening the straps. A question forming on his lips, but Jeremy did not allow it to pass.

There was no time to scream. The doctor might have registered what was happening as Blaire slipped his gun from his jacket and pressed it to the man's temple, but he didn't have time to say so much as 'please' before the trigger was pulled. The bullet exploded out of the barrel of the gun and a moment later the doctor's body was limp, his blood painting the opposite wall.

As their body crumpled to the ground Jeremy knew he'd likely gone too far. There was no way the sound of his gun firing would not draw attention, but he'd been unwilling to let the man live any longer. He knew all their names. All their faces. That was Jeremy Blaire's job. This one would not be missed and Jeremy felt a little better seeing him dead on the ground after having witnessed him tightening those straps on Trager's wrists.

The echo of the gun firing was dying away and only now did the unwilling patient begin to stir. Having been so far gone into whatever nightmare those moving pixel caused to notice what was going on until the sound of the bullet flying free of the gun broke him from his stupor.

Jeremy cringed when he saw how badly the engine program had disfigured Rick. He'd never exactly been a vain man, but even he had to find this withered state disheartening. "Grindstone… golden p-parachutes…stop…s-s-survive." He was muttering incoherencies and Jeremy's heart tightened painfully in his chest.

Rick's favourite thing about himself was his mind. If that went he'd rather be dead, at least that was what he had claimed to Jeremy when the topic of old age came into play.

Setting the gun aside Jeremy rushed to Rick's side, looking over the restraints and snarling in frustration when he saw they'd rubbed Trager's wrists raw, breaking the skin and blistering over months of abuse. "Hey…Hey, Trager. You see me? Come on." He murmured, trying to find some kind of spark of recognition behind his friend's glazed stare. One of his eyes had rotted, looked as though someone had tried to tear it right from his head but Blaire was no longer squeamish. He'd watched his own body be patched back together, he knew it inside and out and this was not the first time he'd stared directly into a dead, unseeing eye. This too could be considered his doing.

"All the money is gone… h-help-highly eviscerated…"

He tried to spark something inside of Trager. Tried to get him to see what was right in front of him but still he stared into the empty space, blind to the real world. "Trager, please." Jeremy pleaded quietly. Nothing seemed to be getting through to him, he didn't even seem to know anyone was there with him or if he did he thought them just another of his tormentors.

When he laid his hand against Rick's sunken skin the man reacted with a violent jerk as though Jeremy had pressed hot coals into him. Trager screeched, something high and hysterical. They might have been words but he was babbling so rapidly that Jeremy couldn't make heads of tails of most of it. Not until he began to scream vehement curses with the occasional word of mercy thrown in. Begging for them to just leave him alone and stop. Learned his lesson. Wouldn't do it again. Would work harder.

Jeremy couldn't stand it.

"I…shit, it's me Rick!" The screaming stopped for just a second and Jeremy kept speaking, praying he was being heard this time. "You see me, Rick? Yeah? It's me, it's Jer. I'm going to get you out of here. You still with me, Rick?"

And for just a second he was.

There was something intelligent behind Trager's one good eye for a second and he actually  _saw_  Jeremy. Confusion played across the man's face as he stared at Jeremy and then finally… _finally_.

"…buddy?"

Jeremy didn't think he'd every smiled so wide in all of his life. It was a near miracle he didn't end up throwing his arms around Trager in some ill-fated attempt at a hug. No time for that. Had to focus on getting him out here. "Yeah Rick, it's me. It's your buddy." He muttered as his hands began to try and get the straps off of Rick's ankles. "Going to get you out of this shithole, just wait."

"You're…actually here. You're real. Not a bad trip… Why?" Trager asked, and Jeremy cannot quiet place his tone. The first of the restraints came away, followed quickly by the second soon he'd have Trager free even if the ones looped around his wrists were tighter than those at his legs.

All the while Trager was still peering at him, that puzzled expression slapped on his dazed face. Jeremy pauses for just a moment to offer up what he hopes to be a satisfactory explanation. "Sentimental attachments." Something in Trager's gaze clicks and Jeremy hopes to god is understanding.

"Have you been watering Jeffery?" Trager asks, words slurring so horribly that for a second Jeremy has no idea what he's trying to say and then when he pieces the garble together as English he's no closer to understanding.

"What?" He's trying to get the latches undone and Rick's swaying is not helping the process along.

"Jeffery." Trager insists again, talking as though his mouth is stuffed full of cotton. Although it does nothing to discourage him from speaking. "Have you been watering Jeffery?"

"What?" Blaire barks, looking back at Rick ludicrously. "No, what no! Of course I haven't been watering your fucking plant.  _Seriously_  Rick? Why the hell would I water your house plant-"

" _Jeffery_!" Trager corrects and Jeremy groans in disbelief. He wishes he could bring himself to be surprised that this conversation is actually happening but he just isn't. Of all the inane…

"-I didn't water you fucking plant, Rick."

"You're dead to me." Trager huffs, tossing his head off to the side only to regret the action a moment later when his whole world went spinning out of balance. He had to grip the arms of his chair just to stop from toppling out of it. The dramatics would need to be kept to minimum for a while.

All the while Jeremy could only roll his eyes in an attempt to fight back the smile that threatened to squirm its way free. It had been so long… "You wouldn't know the half of it." He muttered under his breath, a grim reminder of how literal that sentiment could become for either of them if he didn't hurry. "I'm sure…Jeffery is fine." He gives up arguing the point and instead hoists Trager up onto his chicken legs, hooking the man's arm over his shoulder to half walk, half drag him towards the door.

Only to hear Rick mumble under his breathe. "You monster. You're a bad papa to Jeffery. Bad influence you are."

Despite himself Jeremy chuckles. "Just wait till you meet Jackie and Noel." Rick seems barely conscious but when he is aware enough to attempt it, he tries to help Jeremy with the slow shuffle out of the screening room.

It hits Jeremy properly for the first time. Trager is here. He's right there next to him, mumbling near unintelligible rubbish about a houseplant, and  _alive_. Jeremy knows there's no time to stop and really soak that in after all this time, but the weight of what he's achieved is nearly overwhelming. "Hey, Rick?" He begins quietly, sure that Trager doesn't actually know what he's saying when he hums in acknowledgment. "I missed you, buddy."

And Trager's queasy smile suddenly made all this shit seem worth it. "Always wanted to hear you say that, Jer."

"Yeah, I know. You're never hearing it again." He grouses, absolutely no heat behind the words. Jeremy is even smiling a little bit. "But for now lets get you the hell out of here."

"And when we're out…?"

Jeremy only needs to think about his answer for about a second. "We kill every last fucker inside."

"Ha…sounds like my kind of plan, buddy."

…

…

Getting Trager out of the asylum became one of the more difficult tasks of the day when the Warden's lunatics began to swarm the asylum.

Jeremy carefully kept the pair of them away from the worst of it. Tried to work off what he remembered from the first time around. The kneejerk reaction of the staff was to contain the problem, for security to run towards what seemed like a simple riot rather than away. How fortunate for them that for the time being it was a much smaller scale disaster than it had been for Blaire the first time.

Likely they did not feel so fortunate when Walker came onto the scene. "Time to make ourselves scarce." Jeremy muttered, pulling Trager away from the open hallways, soon they'd need to avoid not only Murkoff personnel but also the raving patients. They'd hold no love for either of them.

Already he could hear screaming. Distant, not close enough to be cause for alarm, but distinctly shrieks of terror as some of the doctors met with a rather grisly end. Gruesome perhaps, but equally justified.

While Trager was in no condition to be fending for himself, he was rapidly coming back to his senses. Jeremy noticed when less and less of the weight on his shoulder was dead and when Trager began to get the hang of walking again.

He had quite good timing because the asylum was beginning to truly fly into a panic. Those few that knew about the situation, those very precious few that Blaire had taken the time to contact during the small window of opportunity he'd had in his office had either made themselves scarce already or fled at the first sign of truth to Blaire's words.

Those that didn't get out in time would hardly be his concern. His conscience was clean – he'd tried after all. Their lives were their own problem now.

"Just a bit more." He muttered to Rick quietly, eyes fixed on the exit they'd agreed to meet at. Fortunately with the elevator key in his possession it would be difficult for many of the other inhabitants of the asylum to make their way up here from the lower levels. Not by any stretch of the imagination impossible, but time consuming and for now that was a blessing in of itself.

Riley  _should_  have been ahead of him,  _should_  have already been waiting but there wasn't a trace of the man or Waylon. Frustrated and beginning to worry that soon the panic would escalate to true carnage Jeremy had to decide what to do. "Going to get you outside Rick, got a few friends there waiting. They'll look after you."

"Friends…" Rick mumbled as though the word was a completely alien one to him. "…since when?"

Ten different snarky answers jumped to his mind at once. Two of which included, 'the future you won't see' and 'a alternate reality' none of those answer got past his lips and instead Blaire opted not to answer at all. Too focused on peering around the corner towards their escape to take notice of Trager's scrutinizing gaze. Even had he seen that look Jeremy wouldn't have been particularly concerned – it seemed they all looked at him like that since he woke up. Like someone they'd never met before.

Then just as his nerves were beginning to get the best of him, there was movement at the door. A moment later it was being pried open and Jeremy let out a quiet breath of relief upon seeing Waylon standing on the other side. Shaken but alive and more importantly on time. Well, within reason. At his side was Riley, holding a gun at the ready – likely guarding Waylon's back.

With one last quick glance down the corridors Blaire began to pull Trager out from around the corner towards the escape. This time Rick was using his own two feet but still leant against Blaire's shoulder for support.

"Is…is  _that_  Trager?"

The horror in Riley's voice is palpable and Jeremy might have told him this was an improvement to what could be have been had Trager not decided to be lucid enough to take offense. "Still a far cry prettier than you, Riles." He remarked, mustering up a nasty smirk for the young security officer.

"Yeah. That's Trager." He muttered with a heavy sigh.

Ignoring Trager's quiet chuckle Riley turned quickly to Blaire, eyes narrowing sharply when he noticed a distinct lack of the one person he was truly waiting on. "My brother?" He hissed and Jeremy was genuinely surprised he hadn't already tried to shoot him.

"Coming." He answered flatly, having no time to explain to Riley just how… _persistent_  Sinclair could be.

Wouldn't be long now he was sure.

Rather than waste time on that front Jeremy took stock of Riley's condition. He's garnered a bloody nose since they last met, Waylon was shaking like a leaf at his side and there was blood on his knuckles. "How's the rest coming along?"

Then as though he'd been kicked back into autopilot – Riley gave his status report. "One dead doctor. No luck with the signal jammer. The short wave radio in the prison should work a charm but…"

"Forget the radio." Jeremy snipped, somehow still able to remember the last time he'd seen the damn thing – broken it to a hundred pieces with his baton at the time. "What about Hope?"

At this Riley shifted uneasily, turning his gun over in his hands as though he might find some fault in the design. "He's…he's out but…" Taking a deep breath Riley forced himself to level out his voice and continue. "He's in about a good a state as Trager there. Asking after Wernicke…and there's this stuff. Black, gooey – he's  _leaking_  it."

Behind Riley's horror there was an unspoken judgment –  _what have you monsters done to him_?

 _I'd be more worried about what he'll do to us._  Jeremy thought coldly, imagining the Walrider sitting just underneath Billy's flesh, clawing its way out as the host became more distressed.

So long as Billy believed Wernicke to be safe they too would be safe from that thing.

It protected the host and Billy's desire to guard his perceived father influenced its actions. Jeremy supposed it leeched something like personality from the hosts it infected. But the Walrider was not an extension of its host. Not really. The Walrider was a creature all its own, and it had a habit of latching onto people like a child would to a new pet.

With that thought Jeremy turned his gaze onto Waylon who recoiled under his stare. "You mind Billy." He announced finally and Waylon balked.

" _Me_?"

Perhaps Waylon had a point. "You and Riley. Stay with Hope. Keep his attention on you, reassure him, do whatever you have to just to keep that thing calm and under his skin. "Give it Upshur if you think it'll help." The Walrider had liked him enough in the past to crawl inside of his body, perhaps that affection would carry over to this scenario. "Last thing we need is the Walrider coming out and-"

"It's real?" Riley asked, as skeptical as he was horrified by the idea. "You lunatics actually made that thing?"

He did not have the time to sit them down and give a crash course on Walrider wrangling.

Fortunately they were all given a little bit of incentive to get moving when something not too far away from them  _exploded_.

The force of the explosion shook the ground and when Jeremy looked back he could jus see the glow of flames beginning to spread. Murkoff Tactical would be on them in no time if they were not already on their way. "Lets get out of here." Waylon suggested urgently.

Survival instinct pushed all their questions aside for the time being and Riley stepped forward to help him with Trager.

Clocking Blaire's surprised look, Riley only scowled at him. "I can move him faster." He explained shortly. Calculated, logical – and hating every moment he had to do it.

"Not sure I trust you not to kill me, Riles." Trager muttered and if the look of disgust Riley shot him was anything to go by – he was considering the benefits of doing just that. Blaire might have argued, demanded he continue to assist Trager, but instead he let the man go without a fuss.

Uttering a small warning to Riley as he did. "Best you tie him up the first chance you get." To Riley's credit he only looked surprised for a split second but then seemed to console himself by thinking 'well it  _is_  Trager' he just did not know that Trager at his best right now was his worst while sane.

Unless they all wanted to start losing body parts once he properly returned to lucidity – they'd be keeping his hands bound up tight. Jeremy did not fancy that conversation when it came around. Rick might just be glad to see him now but once the memory of betrayal returned…well that would be tomorrows problem.

With that little order given he let Rick be taken from him and moved aside. He wouldn't be following them to the tree line and the waiting safety just yet.

Waylon was still holding the exit open for them and as Riley pulled Trager out into the rain Jeremy just heard the exhausted man making comment on the mountain air. "You're not going on a stroll, Trager." Riley muttered as he dragged him on off, leaving Waylon and Jeremy behind.

"What's that you got there?" Blaire asked, noticing Waylon was holding a weapon. As though he could actually match the threats of the asylum – he was no fighter.

"O-Oh this? Riley gave me this. To protect myself." He muttered, raising the bat he was carrying.  _Perfect_.

"Well give it here." Jeremy demanded striding up to Waylon to snatch the baton away from him. "You'd be useless at using it. Besides you won't be needing it. Stick close to your guard dogs and you'll be fine." He continued, testing out the weight and durability of the baton. Just how he remembered it.

"Wait, where are you going? You're not coming with us?"

Waylon, despite still holding a healthy hatred and fear of Blaire, somehow still had it in him to sound concerned. Damn moron was still so soft, Jeremy supposed that was fine he didn't feel the need to break him anymore.

"We're missing one." He explained with a practice swing of the stick. "I'm going to wait for our straggler."

Too strong, he'd forgotten how good his swinging arm had been before the Walrider tore him apart. Adjusting accordingly he tried again, gentler this time – enough to bruise but no threat of killing someone if he struck them on the head. This was supposed to serve as deterrence for when his stalker finally caught up with him after all.

Satisfied he slung the baton over his shoulder and slipped his other hand into his pocket, feeling the cold surface of his gun. There were no spare bullets so this was very much a last resort measure and not at all meant for their latecomer. Deterrence and execution tools in place he glanced back at Waylon. "That brute would kill me if I came out empty handed after all."

"You…you're waiting for Seb?" Waylon sounded mystified. Fair enough, only yesterday Blaire would have gladly watched Sinclair burn just for a chuckle. " _You_?" He asked again and this time Jeremy snickered, crazy as it might have been he rather liked knowing things Waylon couldn't begin to imagine.

"Long story, Park." One he wasn't going to share. "None of your business anyway, get going or I'll have your keeper to answer to when this is all over." He wasn't sure which he was more wary of. Lisa or Riley. Both would see him dead should he fail to return their loved ones to them. Might just kill him anyway for good measure – he wouldn't blame them for that.

"Um, Blaire…?" He stopped on Waylon's tiny voice. Frowning he looked back at the man who had curled a little bit against the door, wearing an expression that even a kicked pup wouldn't put on. "…don't die?" He mumbled what sounded like a plea and for a second Jeremy swore it was the Waylon he remembered from those days spent living in his guest room.

He supposed that would never happen now. They were never going to be friends in any capacity.

That seemed like a fine trade off for everything else they gained. Unconsciously Jeremy's gaze slipped down to Waylon's leg. Completely human, all flesh and bone rather than creaky wood. Yeah, this was an acceptable trade off.

"Get going." Jeremy replied stiffly as he turned away from Park. "We shouldn't be long."

He'd barely gotten three steps before the moron was speaking to him again. "I'm serious!" Waylon called but this time he wasn't given an answer, Blaire didn't even look at him. "I don't know what the fuck is going on, I don't even know why you're doing this or if you're seriously tying to do something good…but look," He began, shifting weight off one leg and onto the other. "After all that…the  _shit_  that went down in the asylum – you and Murkoff probably deserve to rot. But…shit I don't even know what to think. Just…promise me you won't die in here."

Jeremy could have told Waylon what he was thinking. It was so painfully transparent that Jeremy somehow managed to find some affection for the idiot despite how grim it all seemed. Waylon hated him of course, to so suddenly not be hated in return by the man made it his business to see Waylon's life was hell – well it was jarring.

He knew from experience how confusing that sudden lack of loathing could be. Waylon had once done that to him.

If he did survive this experience maybe he'd explain it to Park one day. But for now he walked away, not uttering another word to Waylon. He wasn't going to make any more promises.

"Can't keep all my promises, Park." Jeremy muttered under his breath, not stopping to look back at the man he left behind.

Already the asylum was beginning to fall apart. He could hear it, what had once been almost calm attempts to quell the riots were becoming panicked attempts to escape. Walker would keep them from leaving this place, the Warden would see to it that those left inside perished and it was his job to make sure that the only ones left inside deserved as much.

It was his job to see to it that he was the final nail in Murkoff's coffin. Because once upon a time Waylon had looked at him with a look so cold he was sure he'd never see them and said to him. " _I want you to end Murkoff."_

"But I suppose I can keep just this one."

…

…

With Trager clear Jeremy was free to focus on his own safety. Lisa would mind those they had gotten out and despite his personal distaste for the Warden he held out faith they would take care of the loose ends lingering inside the asylum. Although he thought he might have had to go and deal with Wernicke himself.

The man prided himself in his science, in being able to understanding the unexplainable. Faith and mysticism were lost on him, even if Jeremy had approached him with some kind of warning as to what his carelessness and Murkoff's greed would cause – he wouldn't be believed. Not unless he had some proof and honestly Jeremy did not fancy spending his time winning over some ancient nazi scientist. Murkoff planned to eliminate him and were it not for Billy's affection of the man, Blaire would have happily gone through the with idea.

But for now he lived and Jeremy left their fate up to the Warden, deeming them to be more than capable of handling the elderly bastard. Besides, they seemed better suited to dealing with monsters than Blaire was. He made them, handling them was never exactly his forte.

As such he did begin to wonder how he planned to deal with  _his_  monster as he awaited the stalker to finally catch up with him.

It was taking too long.

"Come on, Sinclair… Where the hell are you?" Jeremy muttered under his breath, the weight of the baton passing back and forth between his hands. A nervous energy rise up under his skin, causing his muscles to coil tightly in anticipation of a sudden burst of movement. " _Come on_."

Hesitant to travel too far from the exit but incapable of remaining stationary Blaire had reluctantly returned deeper into the asylum on the thin hope that maybe if the distance became smaller the wait would follow suit. However every tiny step he took in the other direction was another he'd have to take back, further chewing through their limited time. The longer he delayed, the more detrimental this place became to his health. Before long the carnage would reach him and he'd either have to turn tail and flee empty handed or be forced to relieve the nightmare a second time around.

His only solace was knowing that the rest of them had their marching orders, even if he failed to return Lisa would take care of everything from there. He'd put it all into place and as the board became messier and messier with every second – Jeremy had set up his pieces to the best of his ability and now there was only the matter of putting Murkoff into checkmate.

Blaire's piece was not strictly required for that and so the game was put above him. It all came down to what mattered to him, his part in the game or the win. Well Jeremy had never been the sort to throw away an easy victory.

He was just beginning to consider venturing down into the male ward through the elevator, safety be damned, when the rattle of a door being pried open startled Jeremy back a few steps. Perhaps his time was up and the riots would catch up with him, this to be the first of many more complications he'd wager. Except when the door opened he found himself looking directly as the monster he'd been waiting on. Warped, less burned but alight with a kind of vicious glee that had no right sitting on his face – Sinclair.

"There you are, Mr. Blaire! I'm so relieved I found you!"

The familiar joyful tone shot a cold chill up Jeremy's spine but in the same breath he caught himself whispering. "Finally." Then immediately took a further four steps away from the door and Sinclair.

Quickly his gaze dropped from the man's face to see for his hands, or  _not_  see them. The moment Jeremy saw Sinclair's hand angled behind his back he knew what to expect the man was hiding from his view.

His quick retreat sparked something behind Sinclair's eyes. Something cold, calculating – predatory and despite having known what to expect. Despite having lived it and learned how to see past it – Jeremy could feel his blood running like ice through his veins. Dread beginning to seep its way into every available space in his mind, causing his fingers to tighten around the baton until they began to cramp and ache.

He had not faced Sinclair like this outside of his sleep in such a long time he almost forgot what it felt like to be  _real_. For the nightmare to be flesh and blood again.

For it to not be Sebastian standing in front of him.

He was afraid and Sinclair must have seen it in his face. "Where are you going?" The blonde asked, tone catching between a mocking purr and genuine anger. As though he simply could not fathom why Blaire would put space between them.

"Nowhere! I'm going…nowhere." Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jeremy forced the hand holding the baton to lower slightly as the other hand came up. Palm up in what he hoped to god was a pacifying action. Sinclair looked puzzled. "I'm not going anywhere, see? You found me. Just…put down those scissors, Sinclair."

This time it was undeniably irritation that shone in Sinclair's eyes. "Now how did you guess that?" His little toy ruined before he even got the chance to surprise Jeremy with it.

With the game taken away from him Sinclair's arm dropped from behind his back and sure enough clenched in his fist was the scissors Jeremy remembered.

They were clean. For now.

"Now Mr. Blaire…about your session."  _Oh christ not this again…_

Jeremy barely had the chance to get clear when Sinclair lunged for him, swinging the scissors down for him in what would have been a decidedly lethal blow. Experience was on his side, but skill was not. Jeremy's hasty stumbled dodge was a result of expectation and familiarity with Sinclair but he was no fighter. He fought using others as his weapons and if there was no one to fight for him then battles were won with words.

Words were all he had left when everything else was stripped from him and so Jeremy fell back onto them now even as he held the baton up at the ready. Not sure how useful it would be in action but hoping it would give Sinclair reason to hesitate before getting any closer.

Snarling angrily and looking a little surprised by just how ready Blaire had been for the attack, Sinclair jerked back up to his full height, teetering back on his heels as he carelessly threw his weight around – what little of it he maintained after the engine was done with him.

"Really now Mr. Blaire how am I expected to help you if you don't  _hold still_."

The glint of the scissors being raised for Jeremy to go for the first of his words. "Your brother is waiting for you!"

Jerking to a halt, confusion flickered across Sinclair's face. That's right, his mind had betrayed him considerably during the slaughter, wiping all thoughts that were not of revenge from his head. But he could be made to remember easily enough. "Riley is waiting for you outside." Jeremy continued urgently, eyes staying fixed on the scissors; just waiting for the moment they would come flying at him again. "Everyone is outside, I got Trager right after letting the Warden out. Riley and Waylon are out there, hell I bet that lunatic Gluskin even got clear in time."

Gradually there was recognition returning to Sebastian's face, the confusion never fully faded but he could see the man processing what he was hearing. The scissors remained at his side for a while longer. "You got Dr. Trager out?" He was not a blasted doctor! Jeremy inwardly groaned knowing that was going to be a problem for later.

Still Sinclair sounded puzzled. " _You_ …went back for him?"

"Sinclair, listen to me." Jeremy tried; using the precious few nonviolent seconds he held the man's attention for. "We can get out of here, the exit is not far away. It's time to leave. We have to go."

He had not yet been attacked again. Sinclair hadn't taken so much as another step. Jeremy took this as a good sign and pressed just a little harder.

"Come with me."

And when Jeremy's hand turned to face his palm upwards, Sinclair actually took a step away. The scissors held close to his chest, now an item of defense instead of the weapon they were intended to be. "What…?" He began, the façade of a calm pleasant man breaking slowly. "What are you doing? This…This isn't right. Y-you got what you wanted, you won. This isn't what you… You  _smiled_!"

With every word Sinclair became more agitated until he was screaming at Blaire. "I saw you, I know you did! You smiled when you killed me!"

"You're not dead, Sebastian."

This time when Jeremy took a step forward, Sebastian took three rapid steps of his own back. Pressing against the door he'd moments ago opened. "You're  _not_  dead." He repeated sharply, taking one more step, the last he dared to take for the time being but his hand stayed out, waiting for either the blade or Sebastian's to take it. "Not yet but if you don't get out of here you just might get us both killed."

And then because he knew that if the words weren't said something would feel undone, Jeremy murmured. "I haven't given you permission to die."

"The Warden said…but I-I didn't believe… How could I? They were only dreams. J-Just Wernicke's nightmares, blood dreams, nothing else. O-Oh god I'm not all there.  _I'm not all here_."

"I'm not going to hit you." Jeremy's words might as well have been a physical strike as Sinclair went ridged against the door he was firmly pressed again.

"You're not…you  _can't_  be." With every second, every word, the mask broke a little more and outpoured everything else. Out came the anger; out came the hatred and the pain. All of that truth bubbling over into words as he stared at Blaire and saw nothing familiar to him. "Who the hell are you?!"

So many times Jeremy had come to terms with dying. Too many times he'd waited for his dragged in breath thinking the next would be his last. It was a horrible feeling, all fear and panic - very rarely the numb acceptance he'd heard of. But as he dropped the baton and took those last few steps between himself and Sebastian – Jeremy finally felt none of the terror for what might be the last breath he took.

If Sinclair's scissors buried themselves into his back now, he knew it would only hurt for a short time and then there'd be nothing. Not even regret. So when his arms wrapped around Sebastian's shoulders, holding the young man close, Jeremy was able to speak without any fear.

"Sebastian." He said quietly, the words almost so hushed that even with this closeness Sebastian might not hear them. "I'm sorry."

A sharp tremor wracked through the slender body cradled in his embrace and Jeremy waited for that shiver to result in violence. Tensing instinctively as he awaited the punishment he justly deserved only to be met with the sound of metal clattering to the ground and for the body under his arms to surge against his chest. Trembling arms wrapping around his torso as tightly as they could muster as all the strength was sapped straight out of their owner.

Shivering and beginning to sob, Sebastian broke down right then and there and Jeremy wondered if the result would have been the same had he simply said those words to him the first time they met after the asylum had burned. Likely not, Sinclair was balancing on the edge of something in this slaughter, tipping off it when given the slightest push by him in the past. Sebastian's fragile mind had not yet set and all it took this time was a little bit of gentle urging to pull him back from that edge rather than topple him off it.

Choices and timing he supposed.

"You took everything from me." Sebastian sobbed, fingers buried deeply in Jeremy's jacket, clutching him as tightly as he could manage. "I don't want to go back there, I-I want this to be real. Don't…oh god, don't take this away from me too."

He was taking more thing from Sebastian. Some he might have missed, coffee dates with Waylon and mornings spent tossing quips back and forth over the breakfast table.

But it was the things he didn't need to know, didn't need to dirty his hands with that Jeremy was happy to take form him. There'd be no lives on his conscience, no blood on his hands, no regrets or broken legs. Just a head full of nightmares and a path that lead to a different life.

But this?

He wasn't taking this away from Sebastian.

"All yours." Jeremy murmured gently, giving the crying man a few more seconds where he could simply cling to him. But he knew that they were on thin ice and he could spare no more time when what had once been the distant sounds of people shouting got closer. They didn't sound crazed which likely meant it was Murkoff's back up finally come to clean up this mess. Without Walrider there to rip them to shreds the balance had tipped into Murkoff's favour once again.

Fine. The damage was done.

"Time to go." He whispered to Sebastian upon hearing the heavy thud of boots closing in on them from down the hall.

Following Jeremy's gaze Sebastian's eyes hardened slightly insane he might be but Sebastian was able to put two and two together easily enough. " _Murkoff_ …"

"Hold onto that anger." Blaire advised, stepping away from Sebastian before thinking better of it and grabbing the man by the hand. "But save it for later."

It looked as though Sinclair would have rather stayed and tried his luck killing off some of the men Murkoff had sent. A suicidal urge that Jeremy was having no part in, so he tugged at Sebastian's hand urging him to leave that murderous desire behind. Once his mind settled again, he'd regret those kinds of thoughts anyway. Better to keep his hands pristine. " _Later_." He hissed again, giving Sebastian another tug and this time the man began to follow after him.

His footfalls damn near silent in comparison to Jeremy's. He was practically built to sneak up on people and admitted the idea of having him get the jump on the tactical team was not wholly unappealing but living was far more enticing. Their revenge would go through the courts, not through blood.

A door some distance behind them burst open and Jeremy hear the crack of a gun. Too close. Quickening his pace they had to sacrifice some of their discreetness in exchange for a quicker escape. Not too difficult seeing as there were so few up here and any that were lingering had the issue of also fleeing from Murkoff's death squad.

More bullets were being fired, and the screams that had once been a distant carnage were now filling the same air as them. Anxiously Jeremy lead Sebastian for the exit, stopping their mad dash for escape one corner away from the door. The run to the forest was likely going to be just as draining, best to take this final moment to catch his breath.

By his side Sebastian looked just as out of breath and Jeremy found that deeply satisfying. At least it wasn't just a matter of his stamina failing him.

When they stopped Sebastian risked another look at him, those eyes still searching his face for something. The truth or the sign of a lie maybe. Hell, maybe he was just looking to see if Jeremy was real or not. However when Blaire attempted to turn and round the corner, Sebastian's hand anchored him for a moment. Confused when the blonde's hand jerked him back, not pulling but rather acting as some immovable force for just a second, Jeremy frowned at the silent man and once again found him searching his expression for something.

In an effort to reassure him Jeremy pressed the hand not curled around Sebastian's against the man's cheek. He cringed as though expecting to be hit but then melted into the contact. Just as starved for affection as always, perhaps made worse by the horrors of the walrider program.

"Still with me?" He checked in, getting a mute nod from Sebastian. Good enough. "Just a bit further and we're home free."

One final leap, one last nail.

Tomorrow in sight.


	8. Smile 1/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The main story is coming to a close and it seems too happy, so guess what kids - this exists.

Sinclair's smile had always bothered Blaire.

In the years they'd known one another Jeremy had amassed a sort of collection. It had not been intentional and of course he hadn't noticed it himself until the collection was pointed out to him. He had a name, emotion and irritation with every one of Sinclair's smiles. It dated back to the first day they'd met. That naïve, well meaning smile plastered all over the idiots face. In a way it was that expression that had kick started everything and to this day Jeremy could conjure it up in his mind at will with startling clarity.

He hadn't seen that one in well over three years.

More often he saw those new looks. The ones that had been taught to Sebastian down the road. Jeremy knew the difference between a smirk and sneer. Could pick out which civil look was genuine and which was pained. Right down to the slightest twist in his lips, Jeremy could read him without any effort.

That had never bothered him before. Even when Waylon had first pointed out the eerie level of expertise he had on the matter Jeremy had merely shrugged, chalking it up to Waylon being oblivious rather than him being too attentive.

What did bother him was the level of awareness Sinclair in turn had for him. Supposedly a relic of his days spent sizing people up, Sebastian had no trouble at all figuring out which of his nasty remarks were products of genuine anger and which were just Jeremy being…well Jeremy. A useful skill to have seeing and Jeremy found it hard to tell himself some days.

Regardless of Sebastian's own acute familiarity with his moods actually being put to good use, Jeremy rarely put his knowledge to use.

Granted it was difficult to use the skill much when he did not actually see Sinclair all that often for the first year or so after the whole Murkoff business had been dealt with and closed. Since then he'd been living in a new city and while it was by no means unusual to see either Sinclair boys or that mutt Upshur, it was hardly a daily occurrence at the time.

The house Waylon and Lisa had shipped them all off into the moment they were clear of Murkoff was not terribly different to the one they'd moved out of. With the inclusion of an extra bathroom and guest room. Jeremy never commented on it, but he was still a little surprised when Waylon directed him into the new 'adult' bedroom. Given a place to stay free of charge – for the time being.

He had paid them back in other ways. Even now the fact Jeremy Blaire had actually paid someone back when his arm was not being twisted, was a rather unsettling one.

He'd been their final nail in Murkoff's coffin and then after they'd settled in Blaire got to work on other little inconveniences. He took over all of the family's taxes, prying them away from Waylon's entirely unskilled hands.

Lisa could have handled them easily enough but she'd taken a step back when seeing how adamant Blaire was that he do them. She still smiled privately to herself at the thought, thinking it the closest Blaire got to having fun with a job. It kept him busy, kept him happy – so she left him to it. Only to be pleasantly surprised when not only was he faster than either her or Waylon, but he'd actually managed to find ways to keep a bit of extra cash in their pockets.

Next he'd turned his attentions onto those pockets. Set a kind of new rulebook to spending, pointed out where cuts could be made, where one product could easily substitute another. They indulged him for the most part, letting him enjoy his little reign of tyranny while he could and admittedly they were saving money.

When it finally came time that they begin looking for new work, Waylon having gotten sick of being a freelancer coder from home, Jeremy once again moved into action. Waylon was not the biggest fan of the little 'lessons' Blaire pushed onto him, but his nerves whenever the prospect of going for a job eventually forced him to seek the man's advice. He berated Waylon until he thought he could pass any interview correctly. Waylon had a new job within the week.

He kept an eye on the kids, escorted them to school and events, kept the dishes and clothes cycling through – honestly it was likely the most work Jeremy Blaire had ever physically and willingly taken part in.

And he was happy.

Jeremy only realised it himself one day when he'd been sitting with a cup of shitty coffee in hand – to Waylon's credit he'd been trying to buy better quality coffee – and a paper sprawled out in front of him.

It was a completely typical morning, he'd slipped a chocolate bar into the boy's lunch as reward for something they'd done the night prior. Even now Jeremy couldn't remember exactly what it was, but he was never stingy with the reward of chocolate. Lisa left before he woke up and Waylon had just been stumbling out the door when he got up. Of course Jeremy had stopped him, irritated that he looked a mess – a quick sharp word of reprimand, a redone up tie, misaligned button fixed and he sent Waylon off as well. The washing was on and once he finished the cup he'd be putting the dishwasher on as well.

Honestly it was all pretty dull, and yet Jeremy felt something he'd never actually felt before. Contentment….or at least close to it.

Jeremy found something still lacking. But then his phone had gone off and when he answered Jeremy was greeted with Sebastian's usual angry voice. Ah, so he'd finally noticed Jeremy had taken his favourite cleaning product with him the last time he'd been there. Jeremy had not been satisfied with what Waylon picked up last time and who better to take cleaning materials from than Sebastian?

Sinclair was livid of course, just like Jeremy had expected and he was smirking back into the phone.

There it was. Contentment.

The discussion lasted perhaps an hour but Sinclair's anger her sizzled out by the fifteen-minute mark. Although every now and then he'd sharply remind Blaire about his transgression, not that it earned him any more than a laugh. There came a moment where Sebastian's voice softened so much that Jeremy knew he must have been smiling again.

Talking about his brother's newfound love of writing. Something about that amused Sebastian, having recalled his older brother always disliking the pastime but now he had Miles practically glued to his hip. One of them spent half his life as some otherworldly nightmare and so could no longer take joy in his old job or publish anything. While the other didn't have a knack with words or the imagination needed to write compelling pieces but who also needed something to do with his hands. Apparently they'd worked out some kind of compromise and Jeremy snorted when Sebastian had cheekily referred to it as 'a ghost writer for the ghost'.

As he listened, occasionally inserting a snide comment here and there just to let Sebastian knew he hadn't nodded off or warmed up to Riley, he began to wonder what kind of smile Sebastian would wear across the phone. He could guess and was confident enough to say he'd be right. It was pleasing to know that Sebastian would be wearing a contented smile – giving a kind face to the emotion Jeremy experienced.

There were still moments where Jeremy's understanding of the man were useful.

For example, sometimes when Sebastian would visit with his brother reluctantly in tow, Jeremy might take notice of the slight tightness at the corners of his eyes, ruining what ought to have been a friendly greeting. On those occasions it seemed no one else could see what he did. Jeremy could not understand how they so completely failed to see through the expression.

"Out with it." Jeremy demanded on one particular occasion where Sinclair arrived at the Park's new home with that particular look about him.

The man startled and Jeremy could have rolled his eyes. How he thought Blaire wouldn't notice after all this time was beyond him. "What do you mean?" He began, going for denial at first but as Jeremy eyes continued to bore two tiny holes in his face, Sebastian gave up that nonsense. With a sigh he sat forward, one hand cupped around the mug Waylon had given him, the other absent-mindedly scratching at the scars across his nose. "I…actually there's something I was thinking about recently."

Jeremy waited, knowing that given enough time Sebastian would spit it out. He liked speaking too much and no matter how desperately he tried to cling onto silence – there wasn't a soul alive that couldn't outwait him. But as Sebastian struggled with the wording it became increasingly suspicious. The man positively reeked of anxiety. Jeremy was curious, after all Sebastian hadn't been this tightly wound in well over a year. Those first few months where Waylon still kept a close watch on him were uncomfortable and it only got worse when he was forced to go and see a shrink of his own.

Those first few weeks Jeremy had come to expect Sebastian showing up at unholy hours of the night, panicked, angry and miserable. And each time he'd let Sebastian into his room where he could hide from the outside world for a few hours. And every morning after he'd tell Park again to stop playing the overbearing mother role until finally something gave.

He never could be sure if it was Waylon that relented first or if it was something inside of Sebastian that snapped back into place. But the late night visits stopped and the brothers began to visit more frequently. Sebastian had even started to stabilize a little more. No more angry outbursts or moments where he'd disassociate.

At the end of the day, Jeremy was satisfied with the results.

"Riley and Miles are settled into the country side." Sebastian continued gradually. "It's lovely out there. I love it and I think its an amazing spot to settle but…" There was guilt in those words as well as nerves and Jeremy was properly interested now.

"But?" He prompted a little too gleefully.

"But." Sebastian breathed out with a second heavy sigh, tossing a scowl at Jeremy for good measure. There was no heat behind it. "But I want to try moving closer to the city. Riley and Miles stay away from populated areas now but the time it takes to get anywhere is beginning to be a problem for me."

"You're moving out." Jeremy realised, a small vindictive thrill rushing down his spine as he went on to ask. "And what does brother dearest think of this?"

Another scowl, a bit more heat this time. "I wouldn't leave if he was going to be alone. But Miles is there for him and Riley knows I'd only be a phone call away if he needed me." So he could be there for Sebastian was the implication but blessedly Jeremy let it pass by untouched. "The point is I've found a place."

Abruptly Jeremy felt cold. He knew the farm was a hell of a drive away, but at least he'd always known it was within reach if he really wanted to go. Not that he ever actively made the trip out – the place was a goddamn text book definition of 'wilderness'. Just thinking about it made Jeremy feel the need to take a long bath with as many city living related privileges he could cram into the bathroom.

However much he disliked the filthy, wooden wreck of a place Riley had started patching up at least it was close enough to get to by car.

There was no telling how far Sebastian would feel the need to go now that he could.

"Great." Blaire bit out, and he say Sebastian sit upright at the tone of his voice. Even he could hear how resentful the single word had sounded, but Jeremy was angry. He didn't want to explain why he was angry, but he sure as hell was. "So what's this then?" He went on sharply. "Doing the rounds are you? Well good for you, I don't really want to hear about this one roomed shithole you're going to move into."

"It's got two bedrooms, actually."

"I don't want to hear about the damn place. You didn't even have to come around; I sure as hell won't miss you. Besides who cares how many rooms it's got? Not like anyone is going to want to room with you anyways. Why don't you just-"

" _Blaire_."

Sebastian broke in. Tone amused as it put an abrupt end to Jeremy's would be rant.

Every nerve was trodden on when Sebastian smiled at him this time. That patronizing, smug, knowing fucking look he wore so well now days. Jeremy seethed at the sight, ready to fly off the handle at a moment's notice. But then stopped as his mind quickly applied a different meaning to that smile. Yes it was all the above, but there was genuine warmth behind it. Excitement even and for a moment Jeremy was unable to puzzled out why he would look so enthusiastic all of a sudden.

Then the final piece clicked.

"Oh."

Sinclair's smile only grew, becoming cheeky as the realization dawned on Jeremy.

" _Oh_." He said again and Sebastian laughed.

"Well I had to think of some way to stop you from stealing my cleaning equipment."

…  
…

"What do you think?" Sebastian had asked him, a damn near vulnerable look his scarred face as he presented the empty shell of a house to Jeremy.

It was small, out of the way and generally just that little bit secluded. Which worked just fine for Jeremy. He'd never been a fan of other people, preferring to keep his private life just that – private.

The Parks liked being in family communities so he'd endured having neighbors for a time. Small talk might have been his forte but it was also his nightmare. Fortunately Sebastian had become more like himself in this regard after the asylum. Of course he didn't want any curious eyes on him and there may have been a part of the man that was still paranoid. Murkoff might be as good as buried but the shadow of them never properly faded.

Inside the house were little more than the bare bones of home. Everything was clean and void of personal touches but just looking at it Jeremy could guess where some things would go. He knew exactly how he wanted the lounge room laid out and expected Sebastian might fight him at some point when it came to decorations and the like. But already he was thinking of how to turn  _this_  place into  _their_  place. Which was a good indicator of what he thought of it.

Glancing back over his shoulder Jeremy looked at Sebastian who was still fidgeting. Rubbing his thumb across the burns that stretched across his chin, just as nervous as he was excited for Jeremy's verdict.

"It's not the worst place, I suppose." He announced with a disinterested shrug. "A bit on the small side, but it'll do."

Within the month he was moved out of the Park house hold.

They'd been in on it of course. Explained why Waylon had urged everyone outside to have a look at his garden of all things, giving Sebastian and Blaire that moment to talk. For a man who only a year ago was so adamant that Sebastian not be alone with Jeremy, he was pretty excited to get everyone out of there.

The boys had been horrified when Jeremy announced he'd be moving out. Jackie was going into a new year of school, his last before going to 'big boy' school and he'd pulled out all kinds of tactics to guilt Blaire into staying. "Don't use tricks on the man that taught them to you." Jeremy scoffed, batting Jackie on the back of the head when he'd gone so far as to pull out crocodile tears.

Despite his failure to guilt his adopted 'uncle' into stay, Jackie and Noel had successfully weaseled a promise out of both their parents and Blaire that he'd be obligated to visit frequently. This included birthdays, Christmas and all outstanding holidays. "Don't you think including things like St Patrick's day is a big much?" Blaire groused as he looked over the mockup contract the boys had made. Admittedly the fact they'd gone with a contract as all nearly brought on a swell of affection for the kids.

Those boys were going to be hell to deal with when they were older, he couldn't be prouder.

Sebastian was tasked with carrying in a few boxes while Blaire sat at their new coffee table looking over the boy's contract. The use of the word 'their' was still a bit of a strange one in Jeremy's mind. He set down what would be the last of their things – the few they had really – with a huff before glancing back at Jeremy with one of his more affectionate smiles. If it was the thought of the kids or the fact Jeremy was indulging them that brought it on was anyone's best guess.

"Let the boys have their fun." He advised, walking over to join Blaire at the table. Leaning against the back of the man's chair to get a proper look at the contract. "Maybe they think you're Irish?" He suggested offhandedly.

"Then that school is clearly failing to teach them anything." Blaire muttered irritably even as he willingly inked his signature down on the piece of paper. He could practically feel Sebastian's approving smile at his back. "I don't sound even a little bit Irish."

"Let them have their fun." Sebastian repeated quietly and for a moment Blaire swore the man was going to touch him. His voice so gentle and close that Blaire was sure that Sebastian would have at least pat his shoulder. The quiet sound of him moving suggested he intended to but nothing. As if Sebastian had thought better of it last minutes and retreated inside. "Besides they're going to need you back every once in a while to stop their finances and house from falling apart." He teased instead of touching Jeremy.

"What would they do without me?" He played along with a long-suffering sigh. "Without me you idiots would all be completely lost."

Jeremy didn't look but he knew Sebastian was smiling again. That affectionate, tolerant look of his.

…  
…

Having moved from a house the size of the Park's into a space meant for two was a little bit of a challenge.

What was more challenging was adjusting from seeing Sebastian once or twice a month to every damn day. Sometimes he still startled when seeing the man just sitting at the table or pottering around the place looking for imagined dirt to clean away. It was not bad exactly, but it still felt like the place was constantly occupied where the Park's home could fall still and quiet when everyone was out.

Really the act of living together was the easy part.

Sebastian was exactly how Jeremy had expected he'd be. Clean as a whistle, cooked breakfast most mornings, knew better than to wake Jeremy before he was damn well ready to be up. He knew a lot of this behaviour was learnt from two years earlier and it was this thought that finally began to cause problems.

The first time Jeremy woke up and didn't know where he was, he'd screamed.

Where he'd expected to see the walls of his borrowed bedroom at Waylon's house, Jeremy had opened his eyes and seen wood. Peeling, rotting, decaying wood. He felt the itch of the rough mattress below him and the scratch of the torn, ragged blanket that had been thrown over him. The shack, he was back at the shack and all he could do was scream.

When the door flung open and light flooded the room, Jeremy had scrambled backwards. That action alone should have calmed him, he wasn't tied down so he must not have been there but that thought never fully settled in his mind. Too preoccupied with the figure in the doorway.

What had he done wrong? He thought he'd been better, maybe not good, but better surely. Why had he been brought back here, he thought that he'd been forgiven. He thought….he thought….

"What did I do?" He sobbed, expecting the hammer or the scissors when the man in the door marched into the room, reaching for him. Jeremy recoiled, curling tight into the headboard and for a moment the hand reaching for him paused. Then the man changed his approached, slowed slightly, turned his hand so the palm faced upwards and then fell still.

It took a few seconds for Jeremy's head to being to clear and understand what that gesture meant. The hand was being offered to him rather than simply grabbing him. "It's okay." Sebastian's voice murmured to him gently. "It's okay, it's just me here. I'm still with you."

Clammy fingers reached out, desperately grabbing the offered hand, still trembling Blaire curled around the man's arm and continued to cry as Sebastian took this permission enough to wrap his other arm around Jeremy's back. "I thought I was good. I thought I-" Sebastian hushed the broken sobs and continued to murmur quiet comforting sounds as the attack ran its course.

Gradually Jeremy's heaving sobs turned quiet and he stopped shaking quite so violently. Sebastian knew he was coming back to the present but still did not push the situation, giving Jeremy all the time he needed. The man's hands were holding his own so tightly that it was bruising but Sebastian didn't say anything about it, still able to feel a slight tremor through Jeremy's fingers.

Running the fingers of his free hand through Jeremy's disheveled hair Sebastian cautiously tested the waters. "Are you still with me, Jeremy?" He asked gently and was rewarded with a small miserable laugh and a tiny nod. That was a yes but it was hardly a comforting sign.

"I really thought…" Jeremy began but the words slipped away from him. It could have finished a number of ways. I really thought I was back then. I really thought I was better than this. I really thought it wasn't… In the end he gave up trying to pick just one miserable answer and sighed, slumping into Sinclair's shoulder.

Jeremy hated himself in that moment. For still being as weak and broken as he was. For taking the most comfort from Sebastian being there even as it was Sinclair in his head that scared him. He might have laughed at how fucked that situation was had he not felt so drained. So instead of trying to figure anything out, Jeremy just let himself lean against the younger man.

It was while he was regaining his balance that Jeremy noticed this was the first time Sebastian had willingly made contact with him since they moved into the place. In fact the only times Sebastian touched him in the past few months had been when one of them was breaking. But other than that he kept his hands well to himself and Blaire found this frustrating somehow. It felt ludicrous to be wary of physical contact after all the shitty, inhumane things they'd done to one another. Likely it was Sebastian's idea of being respectful, keeping himself in check, making sure he didn't somehow scared Jeremy again.

Which was why he growled when Sebastian moved like he was about to let go.

Startled Sebastian stilled, looking down at Jeremy with a confused frown. "Not done with you yet." Jeremy muttered angrily, giving no more explanation than that. To Sebastian's credit he didn't go looking for further clarification and instead settled back down, letting the man keep him within easy access for as long as he liked.

Given that time Jeremy noticed his hands were beginning to ache after squeezing Sebastian for so long. If he was aching then Sebastian must have been hurting a lot worse. He let go immediately and could already see where the bruises in the shapes of his fingers would be later. "You should have said something, moron." Jeremy hissed, passing the blame onto Sebastian so that there'd be no need for guilt.

"Oh." Sebastian glanced at his scarred hand. "Yeah I guess I…sorry." He mumbled and Jeremy found himself frowning at Sinclair. Not sure what to make of a response like that. "It didn't hurt that much. So it's fine." Sebastian promised quietly.

"It's going to be purple in fifteen minutes."

"It's fine." He insisted more firmly and although Jeremy did not believe him for a second, he let the conversation drop. So what if Sinclair had a bit of pain endurance, it was better than hurting.

…  
…

"Put that down before you do something we both regret." Jeremy snarled, standing with the table between himself and Sinclair, keeping a good distance between them.

"Now Jeremy you're overreacting just a little bit." Sebastian cooed, a wicked smile on his face.

Jeremy growled wordlessly back at him, eyes flicking between the blonde and the door, calculating his odds of getting out before Sebastian caught him. They were not the most encouraging results. "You do this to me Sinclair and you leave in a body bag."

"Now that's just dramatic." With a heavy sigh Sebastian was the first to move. Skidding out from behind the other side of the table with the kind of litheness that Jeremy didn't know he was still capable of moving with. Hadn't seen him move like that since the asylum.

He tried to backpedal himself, going for the door but Sebastian knew the odds just as well as he did and Jeremy hadn't even managed to get his hands around the doorknob before Sebastian had grasped him by the back of his shirt, pulling him sharply backwards. "Oh would you stop squirming!" Sebastian complained, struggling to keep Blaire still while also holding that damn box safely out of reach.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

"For heaven's sake Jeremy, the language!" Sebastian bit back. "Honestly it's just a—." The words were knocked out of him when Jeremy lashed out, kicking his side.

Wincing Sebastian choked for a moment, his entire body shuddering as the pain hit him. He hadn't actually hit him that hard and Jeremy was a little surprised when it seem to hurt him so much. Sebastian released him in favour of holding his left side, massaging his rib cage with a quiet string of near curses. He really had not hit him that hard…

"Hey, are you...?"

"I'm fine!" Sebastian snapped and Jeremy flinched, not expecting him to be quite that angry. Seeming to only realise how he'd sounded after seeing Jeremy recoil from him, Sebastian quickly tried to amend his tone. "No, I'm sorry I…I didn't mean to snap. I'm fine." Straightening up Sebastian made an effort not to wince but Jeremy could see he was still hurting a bit. He quickly turned his attention back to the camera in his hand. "But really Jeremy. All this fuss over a photo."

With that Jeremy's mind too flicked back to the cause of this whole argument.

It had been a perfectly normal day. Jeremy was still trying to figure out Sebastian's organization of the kitchen, finding that somehow in his relentless need for structure he'd managed to make it more confusing. Jeremy would have been fine if he'd just put everything in a similar place. Plates there, cups there, but no he had to go by size, style, colour – god damn everything he could think of. Then the man had come in, holding a little digital camera and wearing a mirthful grin.

Jeremy might as well have climbed up the walls he'd retreated from the thing so violently. This had sparked Sebastian's stubborn streak and their argument had brought them to this point.

He should have known Sebastian would eventually go down this path. The warning signs were all there, he'd been collecting what few pictures he did have over the past few days. Sending out requests to Riley and Miles to gather what few they had.

Miles had sent back far more than he needed and Riley had supplied a few baby photos he'd kept since he was a young man. Jeremy had enjoyed those ones if nothing else, mocking Sebastian as was tradition with these kinds of things.

He could have put Trager to shame with how relentless he was in his teasing that night. Most of which Sebastian took with a grain of salt, even laughing a bit himself while looking at pudgy baby him.

Lisa and Waylon were contacted next and like Miles they had too many to keep track of. All different stages of their lives together being passed back to Sebastian. These to had been interesting to Jeremy. He rolled his eyes at nearly every picture of Waylon wearing the most unattractive things you could imagine in his youth but whenever there was a picture of the boys Jeremy kept his taunts to himself if there were any to be made at all.

Sebastian had been gathering photos and now that he'd gathered all the existing ones he could find, he'd set out to take some of his own. Which would have been just fine if he'd kept to his brother and friends – but then he turned the blasted lens of Jeremy and suddenly they had a problem.

"Respect a man's wish to not have his photo taken." Jeremy replied coldly, crossing his arms in an attempt to appear less flighty than he currently felt.

Begrudgingly Sebastian thought this over, his desire to be 'polite' almost outweighing his desire to get the picture. However Jeremy did not fancy his chances talking him out of this and so offered a compromise. "If I give you whatever pictures I have from the past like everyone else bloody did will you drop this subject?"

Briefly Sebastian perked back up, eyes shinning at the thought but they dimed a moment later. "Do you really have any?"

Jeremy paused, thoughtful. He knew that back at the asylum he'd kept at least two pictures although he rarely looked at them. At the very least there were a few physical pictures left with his personal belongings. Murkoff had done quite a number on his life three years earlier, but they had no use for family photos and the like so most of them were kept intact and stored away. He'd been returned what few things the bastards had not burned after Murkoff was properly put into the ground.

"A few." He guessed. Most of them would be portraits of older family members. The Blaires were never particularly big on sentiment but they were always a family of good form and posturing correctly required proper family portraits. "Maybe one of a cat." He added, sure that he still had that one somewhere.

Sebastian considered this in silence for quite some time before finally coming to a conclusion. His sigh almost had Jeremy thinking he'd won but Sebastian had a compromise of his own to put forward. "Alright, but I want at least one from now."

"Being pretty stubborn aren't you?" Jeremy muttered angrily, scowling at Sebastian. "What do you need photos for anyway?"  _Why do you need pictures of me?_ "Didn't peg you as the type to scrap book."  _Why do you want them to be from now?_

"Well I am scrap booking." Sebastian announced with a sniff before faltering and adding. "I'll show it to you when it's done, but it won't be done until I get a picture of you smiling."

"Pushing it, Sinclair."

"Does that mean you'll take one?" Sebastian asked, childlike excitement retuning to his eyes and the man damn near bounced.

Jeremy refused to think it was that joy that finally won him over. "If it shuts you up." He growled but Sebastian wasn't disheartened by his grumbling in the slightest.

Instead his face broke into a beaming smile and the blonde wasted no time pulling Jeremy away from the door. Urging him back to the coffee table, apparently he wanted the photo to have a prettier background than their doorway.

As Sebastian fiddled with the little device, working out settings and the like, Jeremy was dutifully silent. But the longer it took, the closer the actual photo came the more tense he became. Until finally when Sebastian turned the camera lens onto him Jeremy broke. "Stop." He barely even whispered it but the single word locked Sebastian firmly in place. He hadn't intended to say anything and cursed himself for sounding so scared when he did speak. "I…Sinclair this is inane. Leave me out of it."

Gradually Sebastian's body unfroze and began to slump. "Jeremy?" Christ, he sounded so concerned. "Is this because of…is this about the scars?" He asked gently and all at once anger and shamed surged through Jeremy who snapped back at Sebastian.

"Of course it is!" He shouted, wishing he could hit something without hurting himself or accidentally breaking the damn wall just to vent some of his anger. "Who the hell would want a photo of themselves like this? I wouldn't even have a fucking mirror if I didn't need it. So no I don't want the damn picture!"

Sebastian didn't speak.

A cold chill settled into his bones as the silence settled between them. Sebastian didn't look angry.

Actually there was a hint of any emotion of his face. He simply stared at Jeremy with flat eyes. Not speaking, not moving – being too quite. Sebastian shouldn't be quiet, he  _hated_  silences. Jeremy opened his mouth to break it, but no words came out.

Only after a few more seconds of this had gone on did Sebastian do anything. A quiet breath slipped out of his mouth and then he was moving, but still offered no words. No way to gauge what he was feeling or thinking. Slowly Sebastian set the camera down on the counter. He paused, checked its screen, clicked something on it and then frowned, adjusting it again. This went on for about a minute before finally Sebastian was satisfied and he left the camera sitting there.

Instinctively Jeremy took a step back away when Sebastian approached him. He was not afraid exactly, but there was an uncertainty growing inside of him. Sebastian was still too quiet, he hadn't said anything yet and that alone was unsettling.

Still without giving Jeremy anything to explain what was going on in his head, Sebastian came to a stop and began to struggle out of his hoodie. Sebastian pulled it off with a small sound of satisfaction, it was always too warm in the house for a hoodie but he still wore it most days. He was horribly attached to the thing and most importantly it covered move of his skin.

Without it people could see the extent of his burns.

The burns Jeremy forgot about them so easily. They stared him in the face every day but Jeremy never really stopped to actually  _see_  them. He didn't see the scars, he just saw…Sebastian.

He glanced down at his arm, the angry red marks having taken up all the skin available, then again he looked to Jeremy and managed a small smile. As if to try and say he saw Jeremy the exact same way.

"You can delete it if you want to." Sebastian told him in a quiet murmur. Finally,  _finally_  he was speaking and relief he hadn't known he needed flooding through Jeremy at the sound. "But I'll never show another soul. You don't even need to look at it if you don't want to – but at least let me take it."

There was actually no way he could have refused bar outright fleeing from the room. Sebastian was kind enough, if that word ever still applied to him without some level of mockery, to give him a bit of warning. Jeremy caught sight of the camera's red light flickering and guessed what all that fiddling with the device had been for.

He expected a similar rush of fear as before, but rather than nervousness Jeremy only felt Sebastian standing close by his side. Joining him in the photo. Sebastian smiled and Jeremy did not. That seemed appropriate.

A tiny click and flash told him it was over and Jeremy honest to god equated that small photo being taken to getting an injection. Sebastian was excited to see the picture while Jeremy was left to take a deep breath and slump down into the coffee table chair. He watched as Sebastian went to retrieve the camera and felt a little pleased seeing the man so rapt up in such a simple joy. His smile only widened when he looked at the finished product.

"Would you like to see?" Sebastian asked, a hint of nervousness returning to his otherwise jovial voice.

Gesturing wordlessly for the man to bring the camera over, Jeremy sat back up, reaching for the camera to scrutinize the picture. At first he saw nothing but the scars. They were near impossible to properly cover up, the ones of his face not so easily hidden and those few that stuck out even when he wore long sleeves getting into the image.

He nearly demanded Sebastian delete it as he promised but then his gaze drifted a bit and he saw Sebastian as well. When he recognized Sebastian in the photo he too saw himself. Under the still noticeable scars, but definitely him. Still uncomfortable he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw those mismatched eyes watching him expectantly. Kid was a damn puppy and Jeremy figured he'd kicked that one enough for a life time.

"Keep it." He sighed, handing the camera back to Sebastian. "Keep it, burn it, I don't care. Just don't go showing those idiot friends of yours."

He might as well not have said that last part because Sebastian's expression positively glowed. "Thank you." He chimed cheerfully, wandering off with the camera, likely going to add this picture to his growing collection.

From that day onwards Sebastian tended to have the camera with him. At first he'd never take a photo around Jeremy without at first announcing his intention to give Jeremy time to stand clear, but before long Jeremy found himself not bothering to get out anymore. He knew he must have shown up in a few of those pictures. In fact he knew when he had because Sebastian would smile in that particular way of his and go off to add the photo to his pile. Jeremy didn't know where his scrapbook was, didn't look for it at the risk of irritating Sebastian.

Although he did one day ask about it and Sebastian replied with a cheeky grin. "I said you could see it when it's finished. It's not finished till I get one of you smiling."

"Not on your life." Jeremy replied bluntly and Sebastian had laughed uttering something about giving it more time.

Time went on and Sebastian got more pictures. Most of them were taken with friends and Jeremy was more than happy to be the one to hold the blasted thing when Sebastian wanted a picture with Waylon or his brother. Although the longer this went on the more pictures Jeremy knew he'd be popping up in.

But Sebastian was happy and so Jeremy left him to it.

…  
…

"Hey Jeremy?" Sebastian called to him but did not leave his post from in front of the mirror.

Blaire had been writing up a brief, somewhat biting, list of instructions for Waylon at the time. The idiot got the idea in his head that he should start his own company and against all odds overcame his fear of Jeremy's response in order to ask him for advice again. Jeremy was more than happy to supply, but each genuine piece of advice was accompanied by at least one mocking remark on Waylon's competency. It was fine, Lisa would be there to help him pick through it. "You're going out?" He guessed, glancing up at Sebastian only briefly.

Apparently Riley had been getting a little bit worried about Sebastian and so trips to the outback home had become more frequent and it showed. Sebastian looked so much more tired now days. "Just for the evening." Sebastian confirmed, tugging at his sleeve as though he might be able to hide the run that encased his hand. "I won't be too long, just a quick check up."

Jeremy waved him off, quietly thankful he had told him where he'd be. The first time Sebastian had been gone for a whole day without a word of warning Jeremy had been rightfully alarmed. He still refused to let the man live it down, planning to lord that transgression over his head for the rest of his natural life.

Sebastian gave up trying to hide his burned skin and turned back to look at Jeremy once more. "Hey, Jeremy?" He waited still he got a distracted hum of acknowledgement before continuing. "Take care of yourself while I'm gone, okay?"

"Always do." Jeremy replied in the usual way, waving Sebastian off absentmindedly. "Go see that brother of yours before he snaps at me for keeping you."

With a faint smile Sebastian did just that, calling back one final goodbye before slipping out for the day, leaving Jeremy to work. He didn't every plan to go back to a proper office but he'd found some work he could do from the house. Jeremy knew he could have probably forgo work all together. The money between their little survivors group if you were sappy enough to think of it like that, was substantial enough that he could have been a freeloader for the rest of his life. But there hadn't been a say in Blaire's life that he wasn't working in some capacity or another. These little jobs were little more than a way for him to keep his sanity. If he stopped working the rest of him might stop working as well, so he kept at it.

That and he had to relinquish house hold chores to Sebastian, who was more passionate about the job. He cooked, cleaned, renovated and remodeled almost all day long. He struggled with the idea of a real job, his appearance making daily life difficult and what had once been his trade a joke to him now. Sebastian could not help those when he was broken himself. So to keep his own sanity Sebastian kept the house moving.

He went about these jobs with a kind of single-minded determination. Every tiny problem with the house was attacked with a passion Blaire did not think he could conjure up in himself for nearly anything. He'd once remarked on this as Sebastian went about reading how to retile a roof. Riley had been more than happy to do it but Sebastian wanted to fix his own house and so his brother had resigned to simply teaching him how to do the physical work.

At the time Sebastian had hesitated. Pulling his head out of the book he'd been pouring over for the occasion to look at Blaire. "It's our home." He'd announced simply. "I want it to be safe and comfortable and perfect."

Jeremy had laughed at that. At least the sound had not been malicious. "Well, you could afford to slow down." He'd remarked. "The house isn't going anywhere, and as funny as it would be to see you fall off the roof, I'd rather not have to put you in the ground."

And Sebastian had smiled. "I know."

The roof was tiled the next day and Sebastian managed to nearly crush his finger with the hammer. Jeremy had been furious as he wrapped up the idiots hand later that night. Sebastian argued he hadn't done that much damage but Jeremy saw blood and that was the end of it. Sebastian had been surprisingly reluctant to let Jeremy check for more damage.

He hardly trusted the idiot to do it himself, he seemed to be wholly unaware of pain in many ways now days and Jeremy got a headache just trying not to shout at someone for being hurt.

Sebastian appreciated the effort if nothing else.

Although Blaire was not without his own lapses of judgment. Such as his sleeping and eating habits. Usually Sebastian had to remind him to do both, or Blaire would get too absorbed in what he was doing and forget them. It was not unusual for him to nod off in places but almost every time without fail Sebastian would take him back to his bed.

Late that night Blaire had done just this. Out cold slumped in front of his computer with an email from Waylon still open on the screen. He didn't stir as the front door slid open and Sebastian tried to creep in, having expected Blaire to be in bed to sleep only to find him at the kitchen table. Sebastian didn't even have it in him to be surprised honestly.

"What am I going to do with you…" He murmured with a fond smile, Blaire was so much less confrontational when asleep. The fact he had to been unconscious to not appear hostile was not complimentary. Sebastian closed up the laptop and went out righting the kitchen before tending to Blaire. Except he almost ended up waking the man when he nearly dropped the mug he'd been putting away. Catching it with his right hand Sebastian let out a shuddering breath of relief, the emotion tinged with just a little bit of apprehension. He'd had to learn to be a little more skilled with his right hand as of late.

Looking back at Jeremy who continued to sleep Sebastian sighed a second time. Wearier and heavier this time around as he carefully set the mug down. He distantly recalled a conversation he and Blaire had once had in Waylon's home nearly three years ago now. "What would I do without you." Sebastian repeated tiredly.

He hardly needed the excuse now days. Sebastian still made note to keep himself in check and didn't hold scissors unless strictly necessary, but he wasn't a danger anymore. Granted he'd never go so far as to say he was a good person again, but he might not be the monster he once was. So he didn't need Blaire to justify those nasty aspects of him. They'd all been dulled down with time and Sebastian thought he was human enough now.

But then the same went for Blaire.

With every year that passed he integrated and stabilized a little more. The nightmares had stopped about six months into their living together. He learnt how to cook basic meals at Sebastian's insistence. He knew how to fix common household problems, some of which Sebastian had allowed to occur just so he'd learn. Every day he got a little better at living and even if he did find a problem there were always the Parks to help him through it if Sebastian wasn't around.

"I did a pretty good job, huh?" Sebastian murmured to the sleeping man. He'd never get praised for his efforts, because Blaire wasn't meant to know. "Don't forget, okay? Come on, let's get you to bed. We can work on that later." Sebastian wasn't sure he'd be able to teach healthy sleeping and eating habits into Blaire even given all the time in the world – but he could try.

Carefully he eased down to gather Blaire up in his arms, he usually carried him to bed with only a little difficulty but today…he couldn't. Sighing Sebastian had to settled for pulling Jeremy up onto his shoulder, the man woke halfway when being forced onto his feet, mumbling something incoherent but certainly insulting in Sebastian's direction. "Yes, yes I know." Sebastian replied quietly, assuming it was something rude and just going for there. "But you can't sleep at the table. Come on, Jeremy."

They stumbled their way to the man's room and Sebastian cringed when he could do little more than drop Jeremy onto the bed. He would have liked to be a touch gentler about it, but he was in bed and for now that was a pass. Still half under Jeremy only grumbled another jumbled swear at Sebastian before going limp into the bed sheets.

While he snarled curses, Sebastian got to working Blaire's shoes off. There was no way he was letting him wear them while sleeping. He allowed Blaire to wear them around the house because he apparently had some great hatred for socks or some nonsense, but he drew the line at having shoes on furniture. Blaire abided for the most part but sometimes he'd test Sebastian's limits, just to probe his weak spots.

He'd just managed to wiggle the first shoe off when Jeremy's sleepy rambling became a little bit more coherent. "Sinclair?" He slurred the name so bad he might as well have been talking through cotton balls and despite himself Sebastian smiled. His bad mood unable to curb the reaction, Jeremy was so much more bearable when drunk on his exhaustion.

"Right here, Jeremy." He answered calmly while untying the laces of the second shoe. "Still with you."

This did wonders for Jeremy who once again relaxed into the bed. Those words usually comforted him. Sebastian was left to work off the second shoe in peace but once it slipped free Jeremy was blindly reaching for him, muttering something under his breath. Sebastian considered denying him and leaving but he didn't fancy leaving Blaire fully dressed in bed, there were limits to this of course. Sebastian never removed anything more than the shoes or a jacket, even that had been a gamble the first time around but Blaire hadn't been angry the morning after.

With a quiet sigh Sebastian stood up and rounded the bed till he was standing by Blaire's side. "Do you want something?" He asked only for Jeremy to make a sound of irritation and gesture for him to come down. He didn't Hesitating Sebastian glanced back at the door. "I should go." He said more to himself than the sleepy man in front of him. "You shouldn't need me around to sleep…" But then Blaire was glaring at him through foggy eyes and Sebastian was startled by a downward tug.

What had—oh, he hadn't felt Jeremy grabbing his hand until he pulled.

He supposed that was better than the hypersensitivity that came before it.

Reluctantly Sebastian eased back down to his knees, resting his arms on the bedside by Jeremy. "Do you need something?" He asked again, changing the phrasing only slightly.

"You're late." Jeremy mumbled and Sebastian smiled in apology.

"I thought I'd be home earlier."

"Have fun?"

Sebastian hesitated. Lying to the man that made lying his job was no easy task, but fortunately that man was half out of his own skull and so when Sebastian smiled and said yes, he wasn't caught. Likely Blaire wouldn't even remember this discussion come morning.

It was this idea that might have been what prompted Sebastian to say what he did. "You know Jeremy, I miss hating you." He mused with a sad smile. "I miss not knowing you, then fearing you and even hating you. It was easier, it was focused, I knew what I had to do. The whole world could be made right if I just killed you."

Shifting a bit Jeremy opened his eyes to scowl weakly as Sebastian, but there was no fear and that pleased him. It was good to know that Jeremy truly wasn't scared of him anymore, weary sometimes perhaps, but never afraid. That was good, he wanted this place to be a shelter with or without him. So Jeremy would feel safe always.

"Not so easy anymore." He continued softly. "You still sometimes say you hate me – ask me to say it back too. But you know I've been thinking…sometimes it sounds like you mean the other one."

With that Sebastian eased back up, pressing a gentle kiss into Jeremy's hair before he stood to leave. He paused only for a moment, glancing back in at Jeremy who curled comfortably into the bed, looking content and safe just how Sebastian wanted.

Satisfied Sebastian uttered just one more thing before turning to close the door behind him. "But I don't think I'd mind if you did." And he smiled.

…  
…

"Jeremy I'm going out."

He said that a lot now days. Came back exhausted every time to the point where Jeremy vocalized his concerns before a moment later denying he had any to begin with. But Sebastian only smiled.

"I'll be back by tonight." That return got later and later until Sebastian changed this promise to. "If I'm not back tonight I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Riley's house could not be that damn entertaining. Perhaps he'd developed some kind of homesickness for his brother or maybe he'd caught some ill-advised feelings for the monster his brother lived with. Jeremy decided he would see Miles dead in a ditch sooner than he'd allow that idea to play out. Fortunately when suggested to Sebastian the man had choked he laughed so hard. Then made some cheeky comment about Riley not liking that kind of thinking and he seemed most happy when he returned home not expressing any desire to move back to the farm.

So it wasn't either of those things that kept Sebastian busy. What had been monthly trips became fortnightly to weekly and now on occasion twice a week.

"You'll look after yourself while I'm gone?"

But he always came back.

"Always do."

Still Jeremy began to worry. Suspicion was one thing but genuine concern was a whole other and he was beginning to feel it. Sebastian always looked tired now days but he never stopped moving mustering up energy from some unknown reserves. Jeremy more than once had told him to stop trying so hard, to slow down and take his time. The fact he of all people was trying to counsel Sebastian spoke volumes. But without fail he'd smile and brush the concerns off. The house wasn't going to insulate itself, that air conditioner wasn't going to fix itself, this furniture wasn't going to replace itself. Sebastian worked like a man on a mission when he was home and the rest of the time he was gone.

One night Sebastian came in from installing a new set of locks and security system and Jeremy was waiting. He was home most days and while Sebastian's constant movement was impossible to block out, it was his long absences that really began to take their toll. "Sinclair." He called sharply, watching as Sebastian recognized that foreboding tone. "Come in here." And he obeyed, which was still somewhat of a new feeling for Blaire.

Recently Sebastian hadn't been fighting him at all. No arguments, no stubborn streak, not even that damn camera he was usually so persistent with. Instead he just listened and did whatever Jeremy asked of him.

This was unsettling.

"Sit." He directed, watching as Sebastian actually fumbled with the seat for a moment. He'd never been the clumsy type, frowning Jeremy narrowed his eyes in on the man's fingers. He saw nothing but red burns, he could have sworn there'd once been a patch of clear skin on his thumb. "You need to stop." He said once Sebastian was sitting.

"Stop what?" He asked, the question rekindling the anger Blaire had been trying to smother for the past hour waiting for the bastard to get his ass back inside.

Sebastian was a little bit wet, it had been raining lightly outside and as a result his hood was pulled up to protect his head from the icy water, but the tips of his hair were dripping. His hair had grown out so much, he'd even allowed his bangs to grow long like some kind of adolescent mistake in action. "Take that off." Blaire growled rather than answering the question he thought didn't deserve one. "You look like a damn ghost wearing that thing all day. Haven't seen your face in weeks."

He didn't.

The first refusal in weeks.

"Stop what?" Sebastian asked again in that same flat voice and Jeremy's temper flared.

"You're not nearly old enough to be having a damn midlife crisis! Whatever this shit is you need to knock it off. Half the time it's like a live alone and the other half you're so busy we might as well be strangers!" Jeremy snapped, hands slamming down on the table between them. Expecting the anger to spark in Sebastian next. He awaited the shouting that would come from him in response, they hadn't fought properly in well over a month, perhaps that's what they needed—

"I won't apologize for making things better." He didn't get the kind of rage he wanted. Instead Sebastian's voice was flat and cold, inspiring a genuine nervousness in Jeremy. Shouting he knew best how to handle, this quiet approach was too detached to be real anger. Then as though the conversation had closed Sebastian got back up out of his seat and moved to leave. Just like that. Jeremy was at a loss, too stunned by that level of coldness to even muster up an angry word.

Sebastian paused by the doorway, tilting his head back though he did not properly face Jeremy. "I…" He began to say something but then some kind of anger overtook the man and he bit his words back down. Jeremy wondered what it was that Sebastian wouldn't say, something was going on in the man's head but Jeremy couldn't begin to guess what it was. "I'll see you in the morning." He said instead, excusing himself to go collapse in bed again. That was his routine now, work until he dropped and stayed dead to the world until he began to work again.

For quite some time Jeremy was at a loss for what to do. He even went so far as to reach out to the Parks for advice. Their little messaging system was something of a pain for him, Lisa entertained herself by giving the chat childish names and assigning new colours, icons and nicknames to himself and Waylon. But it was a very easy system to use to keep in contact with them.

That night he messaged the pair, only just barely concealing the extent of his concerns. They seemed to get the idea. Waylon offered to come see them, having been surprised about three months earlier when Sebastian put an end to their usual coffee meet ups. He commented he missed talking in person. Sebastian was chatty over the phone and in messages – but he hadn't seen the man's face in a long time. Lisa encouraged this idea, reminding Blaire that Jackie expected him at his birthday that coming fortnight. Sebastian wouldn't be able to say no to that, the weight of crushing a kid's birthday would do him in for sure.

A fortnight, easy. They'd guilt him into coming out and then they'd weasel the truth out of him.

Waylon added that he was due to meet up with Miles and Riley that weekend. The pair were almost as shut in as Sebastian, but even they had to go clothe shopping once in a while. Waylon had gallantly offered to spend the day out with them. Blaire immediately refused to join them on that adventure, Riley would spend all of it scowling at him and Miles would be chatting till Blaire's ears bled. So it was a hard pass.

Regardless Blaire left the conversation feeling a little lighter.

The Parks were still there and he was sure that if his approach didn't work then theirs would. They'd have this all ironed out and put to rest.

Sebastian's routine didn't have so much as a dent in it after their short-lived argument. The next day he was back at it, pulling the hood over his head, gloves on and a scarf pulled up to his nose. Winter was rolling in fast but Jeremy was still comfortable in little more than long sleeves. Then Sebastian was out for the day again and Jeremy had to swallow that bitter pill for another day.

The house that had been so tight, that had seemed incapable of feeling empty was beginning to feel just a little bit bigger now and it had nothing to do with Sebastian's renovations. Another day passed and Jeremy held his tongue just a little longer. Just had to make it to Jackie's birthday and then it would be fixed.

But on the third day Jeremy cracked just a little bit. "Sebastian?" He called half expecting to be ignored again. The man had just returned home from the farm and looked dead on his feet. The drive was a long one and Jeremy had started to despise Riley for letting Sebastian keep making it. "Come here for a second?" He asked, the scene from earlier that week flashing through his mind.

The similarities must have occurred to Sebastian as well because he was skeptical about what Jeremy wanted. "Please." He said tiredly. "I don't want to fight."

And for once Jeremy didn't want a fight either. It wouldn't have been entertaining with Sebastian like this and honestly he wasn't feeling up to it either. He missed the banter. Fuck, he missed just having Sebastian around. "I'm not going to shout at you. Just…sit down and listen."

He obeyed and that troubled still Jeremy.

Sebastian didn't say a word as he settled down into the chair across from Jeremy. Waiting and listening just as he'd been asked – the silence he hated so much stretching for as long as Jeremy could bear to keep it.

Opening his mouth to break it, Blaire fell short. He didn't have the words he needed. There were things inside of him twisting and pulling at his strings unpleasantly. Forcing him to try and let them escape into words, to express himself where he failed to do so in the past. But no matter how badly he wanted them to come out – he couldn't find the words for them.

If he could have he would have screamed. The pressure growing too great, ready to overflow into swears, sobs or screams at any given moment. But not a single useful word among them.

And Sebastian waited, because that's what Jeremy had asked for. He watched as the man failed to come up with the way to say what he needed to say and with every passing second his head sank a little deeper. All this time and he'd still failed to do the one thing that desperately needed to be done. All those quick physical fixes, the hours he'd spent making the shelter safe, keeping Blaire safe in it and he'd missed this last piece.

Now how to mend this?

"Sebastian you asked me to move here." Jeremy eventually choked out. The words not the ones he needed, but at least a start. "Why did you do that if you weren't going to live here too?"

"I'm still with you."

"Sure as hell doesn't feel like it." Jeremy tried to hold onto that anger. Tried to encourage it to flower into a more familiar rage to spur his words rather than this helplessness. It was drowned under all the other feelings that refused to fade. "You don't have to keep doing this. You don't have to try so hard. Nothing is wrong, there's no need to make it better." He tried to reason instead. "Just…shit, what are you trying to do? Did I do something wrong? I thought I-"

"You're perfect." Sebastian answered flatly and Jeremy startled at the confidence behind that declaration. "You don't have to change a single thing. It's not you." After that the man fell silent for a short time, gaze dropping down to his gloved hands. Then finally he chuckled quietly. "Sounds strange saying those kinds of things out loud but…if I don't say them then they'll never get heard so I guess…" Trailing off Sebastian sighed before slowly turning dull eyes back to Blaire.

"I've made plans to go back at least once more. But…after that I won't." He relented and Jeremy honest to god felt a spark of hope in him. "So while I'm gone, take care of yourself?"

"Always do." It was worth the traditional answer to see the corners of Sebastian's eyes crinkle slightly as he smiled under the scarf. "Go to bed you look like death keeled over." Sebastian laughed quietly and just as he had those past few days, obeyed. Jeremy watched him shuffle off the bed and smiled in satisfaction. Good, he'd gotten him to at least give a little and he was positive Waylon and Lisa would do the rest.

Saturday came and Sebastian got rugged up tight again. "Jeremy. I'm going." He called from the doorway. "If I'm not back by tonight I'll see you later." There was a pause as Jeremy forced his head up off the lunge cushion to look at Sebastian.

Sebastian smiled. "Look after yourself, please?"

Jeremy said his traditional mumbled goodbye, still half asleep. Sebastian was leaving awfully early that morning, the sun hadn't even risen but Jeremy's tired mind only hoped that meant he would actually get back in that night. Jeremy trusted him to be back eventually.

For as busy and distant as he had been – every single day that Sebastian left he always came home when he said he would.

Then one day he didn't.

It was a Sunday morning when Blaire woke up to feel what it was really like for a home to be empty.

He'd called Sinclair's name, expecting him to be dead asleep in his room but when he finally shuffled over to the man's door and knocked only to be met with silence he began to worry. Opening the door he found Sebastian's room empty. Just like everything else.

Confused Jeremy looked to his phone, a little red light flashed to tell him someone had reached out to him. He found a message from Waylon.

_Call me._

They didn't chat much on the phone. Easier to message one another. But with Jackie's birthday around the corner… Jeremy called Waylon. "Hey, Park." He greeted still standing in Sebastian's doorway.

Silence.

Jeremy was beginning to hate the silence as well. Then quietly. "Riley called this morning…um…" He sounded so small, not afraid but no less hollowed out.

It was an unusual feeling knowing exactly what someone had to say but being unable to process it until the words were heard.

"Sebastian is gone, Jeremy."

…

…

Terminal, that had been the key word.

Sinclair had been dying for quite some time. The explanations that were provided went mostly over Jeremy's head. They seemed rather inconsequential now, the end result was the same. The facts remained unchanged no matter how they were worded.

Sinclair had died.

The damage caused to his body by Murkoff's experiments was progressive and the worst of it had been internalized. The creep of his scar tissue across the surface of his skin might have been visible but it was not what was killing him. First came the pain, then the numbness and loss of mobility – but it was what was inside that had killed him. The damage spread to his vital organs over time, creeping closer to his heart with every passing day. Murkoff creeping in to snatch up just one more life that had managed to escape them for a time. Vengeful to the very end.

They'd tried. Oh had they tried. They'd tried treatments, tried different experimental drugs, most of which had been little more than test runs carried out on a walking dead man. That should have upset him as much as it upset Riley when he heard. After all wasn't it experimentation that landed them here? That was what Riley said in his angry, grief driven rants. But Blaire knew better. They all knew it even if no one said the words. It wasn't Murkoff that killed Sebastian, not really. So Blaire felt nothing while Riley raged.

On that last day they'd attempted just one more treatment. A surgery to see if they could remove what was growing inside of Sebastian, sticking to his organs and turning them dark. But there was so much blackness inside, so much that they could not remove and too much that could not be repaired. They'd tried but once the damage reached Sinclair's heart that battle had been lost.

He'd known. Of course he had. That last day he'd been given the statistics, the chances he had of surviving even if the surgery was successful. Blaire imagined he'd taken those odds with a smile, he didn't expect he'd live after all. He chose to try rather than let time do the job for him. A choice Jeremy had once made, laying bloody and broken on the asylum floor. Sinclair's clumsy stitches holding him together.

There was nothing to hold him together when the time came.

Jeremy did not cry.

He thought this was funny when Waylon wrapped him up in a hug he hadn't asked for. The sandy haired idiot sobbing into his shoulder, apologizing for things that Blaire didn't completely understand. It seemed everyone was using that word, saying sorry to him as though there was something to be sorry for in the first place. Even Lisa, the stone of a woman had stood there, arms crossed rigidly with her head angled down. Blaire could see her shaking slightly and wondered if he'd find tears should she turn her head back up. He found himself relieved when she did not.

The hospital was an unpleasant place and Blaire stayed there only as long as it took for someone to tell him what he needed to know. It was Riley that finally said the words he needed to be free to leave.

Surprised Riley had looked up at Blaire from where he sat, hunched over in one of those flimsy looking plastic chairs, Miles at his side like a faithful mutt. "The farm house?" He repeated slowly, eyeing Blaire with a level of mistrust that was still somehow too generous. "Seb," He choked a bit on his brother's name. "He hasn't been to the house in months."

Of course not.

Blaire left with that. Waylon nearly stopped him but Lisa kept her husband's compassionate heart in check, allowing Blaire the escape he needed.

They hated hospitals. Every single one of them. Felt too much like that wretched place at first and now Blaire knew it would reek of death should any of them every step foot in one again. Blaire resolved never to return to a hospital, he knew how to patch himself up well enough. But it would never been as clean a job as what Sinclair would have done.

The house was still when he returned to it. Too quiet and dark and cold. Blaire hadn't thought to turn on the heater Sinclair had insisted they get before winter. Usually it was already on when the colder days rolled in. Blaire didn't remember once ever turning it on himself.

Today did not bring a change to that trend. Instead he walked straight inside, neglecting to turn on a light and walked right past the heater in favour of sitting himself down on the lounge.

He stayed there for quite some time. Although time itself had seemed to lose its pacing. Too fast and somehow refusing to budge an inch. Blaire couldn't have guessed how long he stayed there, it wasn't until his stomach began to cramp and his joints turned stiff and sore from disuse that he realised it must have been a long time as opposed to a few seconds.

Even knowing that he did not move and the world stayed frozen for a little longer.

The ice was cracked when his phone began to make noise. Irritated Blaire finally stopped ignoring the thing and found people had been trying to contact him for some time. He ignored Waylon's barely concealed concern, stopped briefly on Lisa's messages but he could feel Waylon lingering over the woman's shoulder in the types words. It wasn't until there was one from Riley that Blaire stopped to read what was there.

A date, a time and a place. Blaire knew what it was for without being told.

He wondered distantly if Riley had been forced to send that, he could not imagine him wanting Jeremy around. Surely he'd realised once calm enough who was truly at fault and his anger would eventually turn fully onto him. Jeremy half expected the man to appear on his doorstep with a gun when that day rolled around. He also expected he'd open the door willingly with only the request he wipe his feet before coming in. Maybe he could convince Riley to put down some newspaper or pull the trigger outside – Sinclair hated the mess.

Rick never had a funeral of his own.

Like all the other victims of the asylum, regardless of involvement, he'd been given a place in the mass service that followed the month after the investigation into Murkoff's atrocities was put to an end. Jeremy hadn't gone. Sinclair had urged him to come with the rest of them at the time. He didn't go to Sinclair's either.

To this day Jeremy had never attended a funeral. But when the date did roll around and he was still in that little house, sitting by the window with only just enough energy to glance out it, he thought it was unfortunate the weather was so pleasant. Sunny, cloudless with only what looked like a faint breeze. He felt a little bitter, as though it was impolite of the world to muster up such a lovely day on a day they'd be putting a box into the ground.

It didn't even rain once the night set in, Jeremy's eyes stayed on the sky as it turned from blue to black and felt cheated when there wasn't so much as a cloud in the sky.

Jackie turned fifteen that weekend and Jeremy heard it had been a good day against all odds. Waylon kept sending messages, tried to call on occasion, undeterred by the lack of response. He must have known Jeremy was reading them or he would have given up, any normal person would have given up regardless but Waylon was just that special kind of idiot.

He'd been asked after.

Jeremy typed an apology. It never got sent.

He'd been so close. Jeremy had gotten himself dressed, stood at the door a little box held in his hands as he thought of the boy that was still getting taller. Soon he wouldn't be a boy at all, he'd not be interested in listening to Jeremy's advice or telling him stories about his school day. Already he was old enough that Jeremy was less of an idol, leaving that void to be filled by Noel who had practically been born an adult.

Soon they'd be old enough that Jeremy wouldn't exist anymore.

Maybe it was better to start now. He'd fade out of their lives and it'd be for the best. But…it was still Jackie's birthday and Jeremy had not gotten him the gift just to not give it. The box was set down on the counter and Jeremy turned away from the door thinking it would be a little more dreary without Jackie's stories and Noel's shrewd eyes in his life. But this was better. Jeremy couldn't go out there, didn't want to see what the Park's house looked like now.

Would it still be glowing with the four of them living there? It'd be too bright for him now.

So when Waylon called him and left a voice mail that said, "Please come back and stay with us for a while." Jeremy turned off his phone.

He hadn't cried yet.

This felt like some kind of wrongdoing on his part.

Jeremy knew he should cry, it was what people did. But he wasn't sure he'd ever properly become a person, Sinclair tried so hard to patch him together inside and out. Waylon marveled when he'd shown humanity and even now Jeremy could remember those few times where he had openly cried because it became too much.

Waylon's arms around his shoulders in that little kitchen, welcoming him to humanity. In a hospital bed with Sebastian at his side, hand tightly clasping his as the blond crying his own tears past a smile. So happy he had survived that little bit longer.

The first thing he'd felt in weeks and it wasn't sadness – it was anger.

A scream of rage ripping out of Jeremy's throat as he slammed his hand across the counter, sending everything that had been placed on it scattering to the floor. Something smashed, a mug that still had enough coffee in it to leave a stain. Shaking in anger Jeremy thought about that moment, about what Sebastian had said to him. "I didn't give you permission to die." He'd said through those tears, wearing that smile with Jeremy's hand held tight to his chest.

"I didn't give you permission either you sick fuck!" Jeremy shouted into the empty air only to realise a second later what he was doing.

It hurt, his whole body felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. Sinking to his knees Jeremy clutched his chest where the tightness was at its worse; choking on the things he was feeling. So long numb and suddenly feeling too much, he was drowning in it.

But no tears.

Then he saw the coffee that had spilled and his body turned cold. It was a mess; he'd stupidly lashed out and created a mess. Stumbling back to his feet Jeremy went for the cleaning cupboard, tried to remember what it was Sebastian uttered about coffee stains under his breath. His fingers were still trembling when the grabbed for the first bottle spray he saw, trying to figure out what did what and which one he could use to rectify his mistake. He nearly fumbled with the equipment but made sure not to drop another thing in fear of making the mess worse.

Focusing on nothing else Jeremy managed to get the worst of it out. But he knew it wasn't enough, knew it wasn't as a good a job as what should be done. So he tried again. Tried a different bottle, tried a different method of scrubbing it out but it only seemed to make things worse, rubbing the stain deeper in. He tried again.

All night he spent trying to fix that spot. All night he failed to properly get it out. By the end of his attempts the skin of his fingers was dry and cracked, the different chemicals and rough drag of the cloths and carpet breaking the skin in places. This was what stopped him in the end, worrying that if his blood dribbled out he'd only mess up the floor more.

The stain was still there and Jeremy couldn't' bare the sight of it, so he hide the stain under a cup. He knew there were some things you couldn't scrub clean, but he didn't need to see the evidence of his failure either.


	9. Smile 2/2

As isolated as the little house was, Blaire found himself longing for the kind of distance that the farm house might have provided.

Late at night, sprawled across the lounge he entertained the idea of moving far away. Somewhere up in the hills where no one would come knocking. But then he’d have to leave this house and whenever he thought of that he wondered what would happen to the house if he wasn’t there. It might gather dust or if he sold it off someone might move in and ruin every little thing about it.

This was their house.

He stayed put.

Try as he might to keep the house in order, things were beginning to pile up. Jeremy stopped using dishes, threw out all the food he would never cook, put everything in its proper place and closed the cupboards up tight. He would suffice with just one plate for those few slices of bread he’d remember to eat once his stomach began to cave in on itself.

Sometimes he still thouht about Waylon. The messages that had been coming every day slowed over time. One a day to one every three then once a week. Jeremy waited and was satisfied when they became a monthly thing, perhaps given enough time he’d stop all together. Occasionally he’d still read what was sent to him, but it was usually an unpleasant experience. Every word was sad, every sentence packed with too much concern.

Park didn’t even have the common courtesy to be angry with him.There were unusual days when Lisa would message him herself. These messages he always read because she was angry and it was easier than Waylon’s concern. It was one of these messages that told Jeremy something important.

It had been a year.

Jeremy thought that was strange at the time. Time had stopped in the little silent house but outside it went on. After the initial shock passed Jeremy felt something numb creeping back into his chest and this time he let it. It felt right that time should pass him on by, soon it would be Jackie’s birthday again – he’d miss that one too just like he missed Noel’s. Another year and he’d be wiped from the kids minds for sure.

That hurt and so Jeremy forced the thought out of his head, turning his back on the phone and words to return to the window. He kept the glass clean as he could but it felt like nothing was ever clean enough, he couldn’t move as fast as Sebastian had, couldn’t obsess over it like he could.

He barely ate anymore, Jeremy hadn’t been this tired or thin since first being pulled from the asylum all those years ago. Sleep might have been easier but somehow he just laid awake, staring into space without any desire to do anything else.

That work he’d been so adamant about no longer seemed important. The things he’d been enthusiastic about became chores and were dropped the moment it would not cause the Parks anymore grief.

Tired beyond belief but still unable to get a restful nights sleep Jeremy’s mind began to turn to more desperate measures. In the past there was always one thing that managed to put him at ease, the thing that helped slip him back into sleep.

Sebastian’s bedroom door hadn’t been opened in a year and Jeremy felt sick knowing it would be full of dust.

Sinclair would have hated that.

Standing in front of that door Jeremy was reminded of a year earlier when he stood at the front door, thinking about Jackie. Now he stood at Sinclair’s door, feeling just as unable to move forward as he had back then.

He knew that if he could just gather up the nerve and go into that room, he’d be able to sleep again. It would be the most relief he’d had in months but…

Sighing he turned away and went back to the coffee table. It was fine, a little bit of sleep deprivation wasn’t all that bad. Might just be another thing he deserved.

Silently Jeremy slumped down in the seat, arms used at uncomfortable substitutes for pillows as he lays his head down on the table. He waits, knowing that eventually his body will be unable to keep him awake and then he’ll be gone for a few hours, not quite sleeping but at least no longer aware.

It’s cold. The heater is still off. It’s dark. He hasn’t paid much in the way of electricity bills recently. It’s quiet. Jeremy can’t force himself to break the silence.

As he passed from the threshold of consciousness into the darkness again, Jeremy gives a single shiver his body not able to block out the cold while the man himself disregards it. He’ll be sore later, sleeping like this but Jeremy doesn't attempt to get himself to the lounge this time. Doesn’t care that he’ll ache or lose feeling in his toes, just so long as he’s not in his own head for a little while longer.

He is gone for only a short time before a loud bang jars him awake.Jerking upright Jeremy panics for a moment, confused and bleary eyed as he looks around what he thought would be the kitchen. He hasn’t seen the walls of his own room for quite some time, had forgotten what his own bed felt like, and so when he wakes laying atop his own bed sheets Jeremy doesn’t know where he is for a few seconds.

Slowly understanding settles in and Jeremy squints at the soft fabric under his fingers, pinching at it to see if he really had somehow made it to his room. He’d never tried to before, shunning the bed in favour of the lounge or table. Another thing he didn’t deserve.

His door is shut. The bang he heard had sounded like a door.

Snarling quietly Jeremy heaved himself up off the bed, going for the door thinking maybe he could drink himself properly unconscious this time but when his fingers wrap around the doorknob he cringes against the glacial touch of the handle. As if he’d just wrapped his fingers around a block of ice.

Trying to jerk the door open Jeremy finds it’s impossible. He tries again, pushing his shoulder against the wooden door and cursing under his breath.

Damn thing is jammed shut, it doesn’t so much as budge in pity at his attempts.

Exhausted, still half under the haze of sleep and furious Jeremy shouts another angry curse at the door before giving up and slinking begrudgingly back to the bed.

As he collapses into the soft sheets he feels a moment of relief that immediately guts him and leaves guilt behind. He felt like he should sleep on the floor, that would be more what he deserved but…he stays on the bed. Either too tired to get up again or simply succumbing to the first soft surface to sleep on in months.

Before long he’s under again and it’s the best nights rest he’s had in a year.

 

...

...

 

Later that same month, if Waylon’s customary ignored message is any way to gauge the passage of time, Blaire finds things are not quite right.

He tries to find the source of the problem, checks the placement of all the things in the house. Looks for the thing that is out of place, a bit of dirt he had missed, some indication that something was amiss.

He finds the culprit while checking that all the contents of the cupboards are still in the order they’d been left in.

Blaire kept so little food in the house, only that which he needed to keep living and a copious amount of alcohol.

Everything he got came from a corner store a few blocks over, he never ventured further unless he strictly had to and those visits were kept brief. He knew the person that worked the late night shift, only going in once the sun had set. They knew him too, there was that recognition in their eyes and a kind smile that reminded him too much of Waylon’s pity when they greeted him. The server was too kind, but the store was close by and so Jeremy stomached it.

The last trip he’d made had been the night before and he had stocked up on that stash of bottles. No longer caring that it was cheap alcohol, it did the trick. However when he opened up the cupboard today he had to leap away, only just narrowly avoiding a downpour of the sticky liquid. The smell of alcohol flooded the kitchen as a few bottles already broken fell to the ground, as the torrent of liquid slowed to a drip.

Still in shock Jeremy could only stare at the puddle that had formed under the cupboard. Distantly his mind rejected what he was seeing, thinking it was impossible. Every single bottle he’d gotten was shattered and the contents leaking out onto the counter under the cupboard. There were so many little things wrong with what he was seeing but Jeremy’s focus quickly shifted to the mess that had been made.

His fingers still ached; a few bandaids had haphazardly been wrapped over the worst of the abrasions. Just to keep the blood inside but Jeremy could feel the cuts and cracked skin stinging as he tried to clean up the mess.

The tiles made the job an easy one and after a while Jeremy was satisfied that it wouldn’t be a permanent problem. But still…he glanced back towards the cupboard, taking in the state of each bottle. It looked as though a small bomb had detonated inside the wooden box of a thing. Every bottle shattered, some shards stuck in the sides of the cupboard. Confused Jeremy stared at the sight for a few minutes, just at a loss as to what had happened.Eventually his confusion turned to frustration. This meant he’d have to go out again if he wanted any drinks that week.

It happened a second time and Jeremy was just as surprised as the first.

He hadn’t even put the bottles away. Barely even out of the room and he heard the sound of glass shattering. No, he told himself in disbelief. That can’t be the drinks. But it was. He returned to the kitchen to find the remains of the bottles on the floor – another mess.

Blaire believed in giving things an honest to god effort and so he tried just once more. Ignoring the concerned look that nice cashier gave him when he came back for more drinks the next day. Likely thought he was drinking himself ten feet under. Might have if the bottles would stop combusting.

Third times the charm, he told himself and it certainly was.

The third time he took his eyes of the bottles and head glass crunching Blaire knew it was time to pack it in.

Rather than check the condition of his newly bought drinks, Blaire went straight for the cleaning equipment. If it wasn’t on the tiles he was going to be livid.

He didn’t buy anymore drinks after that.With his unwilling sobriety there came clarity. Jeremy took notice of little things he’d missed before.

It wasn’t cold. Checking the heater and sure enough he found it turned on. But Jeremy did not remember so much as glancing at the thing. He left it alone, not having noticed how cold he had been until he felt the feeling return to this toes, a horrible prickling sensation that was just shy of painful. The heat was appreciated.

It wasn’t dark, the curtains were drawn and the light in the kitchen on. Jeremy closed the blinds immediately, but there seemed to be some problem with the light switch, no matter how he tried the light wouldn’t turn off – stuck on. Jeremy considered just breaking the blasted thing but knew it would be more dangerous than what it was worth. He gave up on the matter and left the light as it was.

All this perhaps Jeremy could have overlooked, but it was sleep that really got him. He tried to collapse on the lounge or at the table as he usually did, but without fail he’d find himself back in his bedroom, on his bed each time. Then when he went for the door it was cold and immovable, trapping him all night long only to open with ease in the morning.

“I’ve gone crazy.” Jeremy told himself conversationally. Not particularly surprised by this fact, but no less disheartened to know that finally he’d snapped. Took him a bit longer than he thought it should have, but it was finally here – proper insanity. 

The sound of his phone buzzing knocked Jeremy out of his thoughts. It hadn’t done that in a while. Someone was calling. He wondered if it was Waylon, trying desperately to get an answer he wouldn’t be given.

Curious if nothing else Jeremy tiredly picked up the phone, he didn’t recognize the number. So likely it was someone he didn’t want to talk to. That thought was almost amusing, there was no one he wanted to talk to. But he could tolerate the thought of Waylon at the very least.

Tossing the phone aside Jeremy let it ring out, trying to get back on track with his thoughts on what to do with his newly broken mind. The phone stopped short in the middle of a ring, Jeremy wondered who it was and even spared a thought for how frustrated they might have been to be unable to wait for the phone to ring out.

He’d just shrugged off the thought when his phone beeped at him. A message.Once again curiosity got the better of him, there were so few things to be interested in now days and so Jeremy collected the phone again, peering at the message. That same unknown caller, so they’d given up calling to text him instead. Perhaps Waylon had a new phone and just wanted to let Jeremy know for some ungodly reason.

‘ _You’re hungry_ ’

Jeremy frowned at those two words. His first thought was that it was some advertisement gone wrong but he didn’t see any type of company branding or even a selling point. Just those two words, nothing else.

Confused Jeremy nearly set the phone back down to forget about it when the damn thing beeped in his hands again, vibrating as a second message came in.

' _Eat something_.’

He set the phone down a little more roughly than he needed to. Staring at the damn thing as though it had somehow insulted him. He did not need some spam text telling him to eat something, advertisement or not.

When the phone goes off for a third time Jeremy genuinely startled at the sound. He doesn’t bother reading it this time, just scowls at the phone from a distance. It kept making sound, kept rattling against the coffee table, lighting up with unread messages.

“Shut up.” The sound grates on Jeremy’s ears and under all that irritation there’s a persisting nervousness. He’s unsettled by this.

He shouts at the blasted thing after a few more seconds of that racket. “Shut up!”

And so it stops.

...he’s hungry.

 

…

…

 

The house is no longer cold. It’s not dark either.

Jeremy finds the curtains are difficult to close and that light never turns off, the heater seems to be on all the time even though Jeremy was sure he turned it off each night.

When he checks it the machine says it’s off, but the house has been kept warm all through the night. Jeremy has never thought an appliance has been lying to him before, but he’d also never thought his phone was antagonizing him before. Just another effect of being crazy he supposed.

The cold and the dark are gone, but it takes Jeremy some time to notice that so too is the silence.

It was so quiet at first. Nothing more than a buzz in the air, a kind of hum that could have been something electrical in the distance. Once Jeremy noticed it he realized he’d been listening to the sound for months but never really registering it as a sound. It had crept up on him so slowly that it wasn’t until it was a substantial sound that he ever really took notice.

He’d searched the house, looking for the source of that unusual hum. But he couldn’t find it’s source. It seemed to be louder in some places but then quieter at random intervals. He couldn’t pin it down.

The sound persists as the days drag and Jeremy begins to notice trends in its volume and frequency. When he’s at the window, his stomach beginning to growl the sound becomes just that little bit louder. More nagging and difficult to block out. It became more irritating as the days dragged on but then went completely silent when Jeremy looked at a message Waylon had sent him.

The first he’d actually read in months. Then again it fell quiet when Jeremy remembered to make himself something to eat. Like that, start and stop all the time. It starts when he stares out the window and then stops once again when he drags himself to bed – having given up trying to sleep anywhere but in his own bed.

In an effort to keep it quiet Jeremy reads the things that Waylon sent him more often now. It is through these texts that he realizes another year had passed, three so far, halfway into the fourth. So long and Jeremy feels no distance, no change in himself. But something has changed, outside the world moved on and he stayed put, but now it feels like something else stayed put with him.

He’s still looking at the message Waylon sent him, little more than an update on things he’d chosen to ignore, when it buzzes in his hand. A cold chill sweeps over him as he sees that unknown caller ID pop up on the illuminated screen again.

‘ _You are hungry_.’ It tells him again. ‘ _You have no food._ ’ It adds with another buzz of the phone. ‘ _Go out_.’ It orders and Jeremy snaps.

Throwing the phone aside Jeremy feels an anger he hadn’t been able to muster up since Sinclair died burning inside of him. “I might be crazy but that doesn’t mean I have to do a damn thing you say!”

In response to his outburst the phone begins to ring and Jeremy retreats, backing further away from the phone until his back meets with the wall and he has no more room to put between them.

Sinking to the floor Jeremy curls in on himself, trying to drown out the sound of the phone rattling away on the tiles angrily.

Why should he be the one to stay together when everything else fell apart? Squeezing his eyes shut Jeremy dragged his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his arms in an attempt to muffle the racket of the phone. Why should he be the one with the heavy heart when he wasn’t the one that chose to be this way? Why did he have to keep living just because some dead man told him he had to while holding his hand so tightly?

Why did it have to be him still here?

He didn’t know how long he was curled there on the floor or how long the phone screamed at him before finally falling silent. He was starving, could feel his stomach turning unpleasantly under his skin, but he refused to do the bidding of his own hallucinations. If he had no food then he couldn’t force his body to keep going on, maybe he could waste away and it would all just fade with time.

Just a little more time…

Jeremy stayed there long after the phone stopped buzzing, but he dared not sleep. Afraid he’d wake up in his own bed not knowing how he got there.

Then there was a sound. It scared Jeremy, causing the man to fall onto his side as he jumped violently. For a moment he thought it was the hallucinations returning, but when the sound of a fist pounding against wood came rolling through the house again he realised it was real, it was the sound of someone at his door.

He hadn’t heard that sound in quite some time.

Normally he’d ignore anyone that came by unless he expected them. But he knew it wouldn’t be Waylon, that firm pounding at the door couldn’t be the mild mannered man. Made curious by this novelty and admittedly just looking for an escape from the hallucinations, Jeremy got up and dragged himself over to the door.

In hindsight he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was to see Riley Sinclair standing on his doorstep.

The man’s face was screwed up in anger, disgust so strong it was nearly palpable. Jeremy thought it just might rival his own.

The man looked over him twice, expression darkening with each sweep of his person. Then without a word Riley let himself in, easily removing Jeremy from the doorway with one shove of the only arm he had. Riley had clearly been working his muscles again, he looked capable of snapping a man’s neck even with his handicap. His skin had darkened from days spent out in the sun and Jeremy could practically feel heat radiating off the man – he looked healthy. Nothing like Jeremy knew he looked himself.

Unkempt, pale and thin, he had likely never looked more pitiful in all his life and it showed in the way Riley sneered at him.

“You kept the place clean.” Riley noted dryly, voice harsh without any attempts to sound more civil. Jeremy could not even tell if it was an approving observation or not. “Get your ass in the shower, Blaire.” He continued while striding into the kitchen, beginning to pull at draws and cupboards like he owned the place. “You reek.” He added coldly.

Jeremy only just managed to catch back up with the conversation to be insulted. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Riley turned, looking at Jeremy as though he were the greatest inconvenience of his life. For a moment he was taken back to the asylum, remembering when he’d been the one throwing looks like that at Riley. Times certainly had changed.

"You’re going to get in that shower.” Riley began slowly, tone deathly serious, bordering on threatening. “And you’re going to come out clean, then you’re going to sit down and eat whatever I put in front of you.”

And…despite all odds Jeremy did.

Maybe it was the effort of fighting that drove Jeremy away from arguing or maybe it was the promise of what Riley would make that won over his empty stomach. It hardly mattered, Jeremy ended up turning on the shower and doing as Riley instructed.

"Don’t make a mess.” He snarled under his breath before going. Getting a small affirmative grunt from the man that had commandeered his kitchen.

And when Jeremy was in the bathroom he heard that buzzing start up again. But this time it was not sharp or nagging. Instead the hum had softened to a near lyrical purr, content and pleased. At first Jeremy was unsure what to make of this change, but if he was crazy then perhaps this unusual drone was part of that too and the sound was just some kind of mocking manifestation of his minds desire to not just waste away. He never thought he’d be fighting with his own survival instinct.

"Smug fuck.” He muttered under his breath and for a second he swore the hum rose to a happy whisper.

When Jeremy stepped out of the shower he heard voices outside the bathroom door. Riley’s and…oh Christ he brought the reporter with him?

Miles’s voice was unbearably cheery and Jeremy tried to ignore it as the men conversed. Riley’s unhappy tone helped to balance Miles’s happy chattering. “Aren’t you a little relieved?” Miles was asking to which Riley growled something along the lines of ‘not at bloody all’ in answer. Upshur didn’t believe it for a moment. "No fibs now, Riles.”

Then softer. “Thank you for doing this, Riley. It helps.”

Jeremy frowned considering just not leaving the bathroom and waiting for the two fools to get a hint and piss off. But then the buzzing kicked off again, agitated and sounding much closer to a human whisper than it had been before. Jeremy muttered a furious “Fine, fine!” Back at the sound and begrudgingly stepped out of the bathroom, hair still dripping wet to face the pair.

Miles perked up upon seeing him and grinned mirthfully at Jeremy. “Hey there you little ray of sunshine.” He greeted mockingly and Jeremy would have given anything to be physically able to pick the man up and throw him out. An urge Riley clearly had to fight himself from time to time, although he had the capability to do so. Lucky bastard.

“Right…now that you two have invaded my home would you kindly get out? You know where the door is.” Jeremy had not even finished the bitter command when suddenly a large black mass of fucking nightmares leapt up in front of him. A scream got caught in his throat when the Walrider loomed over him. He’d seen the thing up close one three occasions and twice he’d ended up nearly bleeding out.

It peered down into his face, seeing god only knows what in the man’s terrified eyes. Then suddenly reared back, putting a space between them that Jeremy desperately needed but had not actually asked for. The feline like creature twisted around the empty air in front of Jeremy and made the most unusual purring sound. A happy sound.

Jeremy didn’t know what to think of that.“Hey, easy there Wali.” Miles called, having become infinitely more comfortable with his little pet monster over the years. “Come on, back off.” He urged, a smile in his voice. “You got what you wanted, now come back.” Jeremy could breathe once again when the creature left to obey its host’s call.

Once he found his voice he used it to snap at Miles. “No supernatural creatures in the house!” And Miles laughed. Of course.

“Enough you two.” Riley’s calm, somewhat biting voice broke in. “Dinner is ready.” When the younger man’s eyes met Jeremy’s there was a warning behind them. “You come here and eat.”

What was the point in fighting now?

Reluctantly Jeremy crept forward and his stomach cramped painfully when the smell of food – real food – hit him for the first time in months. He hadn’t eaten a cooked meal in so long, it was little more than a pasta dish but Jeremy was sure he’d never smelt anything so appetizing in all his life. His hunger must have been shinning in his eyes because Riley’s hard expression broke for just a second.

Being caught between amusement and some kind of apprehension. “Eat.” He ordered again, rounding the table to usher – force – Jeremy down into his seat, a dish being pushed closer to him.

He needed no threatening once he’d smelt the food, not wanting anything else now that it was in front of him.Satisfied that Jeremy wasn’t going to give them anymore trouble, Riley sat down opposite his unenthusiastic host with Miles at his side.

The three of them did not speak while eating. Partially because they had nothing they wanted to say and partially because Jeremy was absorbed in the food. He barely even noticed Riley continued to supply more when he finished what he had.

  
But finally his stomach was not so achingly empty and Jeremy had to break that silence with a question. “Why did you come here?”

Riley glanced at him, gaze level before he answered with an equally level voice. “Because clearly you needed it…and because I was asked.” Then he glanced at Miles who beamed.

“Walrider wanted a check in.”

Jeremy sat straight when those words were said. Unable to understand why that creature would want to check in on him of all people. Seeing his surprise Miles merely shrugged.

No one could explain the Walrider’s moods really, but its host did try.

“He’s been pretty insistent recently. Think he might be missing…his other human.” Miles’s smile faded a little bit as he said this. It didn’t drop away entirely but the expression became sad. “Walrider doesn’t quite understand death I suppose…keeps waiting for him to come back. Keeps acting like he’s…”

Miles trailed off and Riley’s eyes became just as sad as his friend’s smile. The silence returned and Jeremy left it for a while this time. He did not want to think that the creature attached to Miles could feel loss…or even worse acted as though Sinclair had not died. Blaire had no love for Riley but he could imagine how painful that might be for the older brother. Having some child like monster acting as though the brother he lost was still around.

No matter how much he disliked Riley, he could garner no amusement from that.

They finished eating in silence and Riley went about cleaning up the kitchen to a standard that Jeremy almost thought was good enough. He’d go over it all once Riley was gone. While the man was busy with that, Jeremy caught Upshur’s attention, thinking that he could at least sort out one last uncertainty.

“You, Upshur. Mind checking this phone for me?” He handed over the accursed thing to the confused former reporter. “Just tell me what it says on the screen. Don’t ask questions, I seriously do not have the patience.” That and he didn’t feel like explaining just how broken his psyche was to Upshur.

It was a relief when Miles did as he was asked with a slight frown.He looked at the screen in his hands, looked confused and then laughed quietly before holding it back out to Jeremy. “Who have you been talking to, man?” He asked still laughing and Jeremy’s heart sank. He’d been hoping Miles would say it was blank or just a lock screen that had been handed to him.

"It just says; ‘Or eat in’.”

When Miles and Riley left, Jeremy was still holding the phone that had been handed back to him. Not sure what he was supposed to do now.

He honestly didn’t know if this was worse than being crazy or not.

...  
...

Jeremy Blaire did not believe in ghosts.  
  
In fact he’d never believed in anything of a supernatural nature.  
  
If it could not be explained clearly or generally rationalized he didn’t give it the time of day. That was not to say that he did not see the profit of the supernatural. Indeed he’d invoked the word of god on one occasion or another to twist people in the direction he needed them to go. Murkoff had been something of the leading experts in that particular field. But even as they played with toy morality and dipped their grubby fingers into the occult Nazi research Wernicke had provided – Murkoff had been nothing if not practical.  
  
The Walrdier was not a demon, it was a science. Granted it was a immoral, near unfathomable science, but it was still just something of the natural world.  
  
Even the atrocities committed in that asylum, not of magic or Martin’s faith – but man’s invention. Blaire had been raised with a bible at his bedside, a taught set of prays for the dinner table and a kind of accepted faith – but that did not mean he believed. He’d been built to adhere to what seemed acceptable, spoke god’s name where appropriate and questioned little beyond it.  
  
It had not been until he encountered Trager for the first time that his faith even came into question. Not because he felt doubt when Rick asked him about it, that cheeky sneer plastered all over his face as he awaited for this new executive to show him some kind of weakness he could exploit. But instead because he found himself mildly surprised he’d never considered it before.  
  
God was little more than an expectation he supposed. Something that fit in with most of the beliefs he would be met with from the outside world – just another tool his parents had provided him with in order to appear appealing to the company. But times changed, god became less an expectation and more of an argument. Blaire had no time for that argument himself and so he let his stance on the whole thing remain the same.  
  
He didn’t much care either way. Trager had always been more enthusiastic about the topic, or rather he was more enthusiastic about bashing the notion until it would have been black and blue were it a physical being. Jeremy found the older man’s stance on the church and profit to be an interesting insight if nothing else, but he never recuperated Rick’s strange obsession with dismantling the conviction of a true believer. Sometimes he thought Rick simply enjoyed stripping that final shred of hope from people. Religion could be such a comfort to a dying man and Rick delighted in taking it away.  
  
A long time ago he had nearly been that dying man. He’d screamed at the time. The Walrdier pushing up from under his flesh, pulling him apart at the seams as old phrases of belief rushed to his mouth in the blind moment of panic. As though those childhood sermons might somehow save him from the pearly gates.  
  
But in the end it hadn’t stolen his life and what held him together were man’s mends. And his faith remained as it always had.  
  
Regardless of his indifference to the substance of religion beyond where a profit could be made, Blaire had always resolutely dismissed the notion of any other kind of magic or paranormal elements. Part of him had come to recognize this double standard as a product of his upbringing but he never had changed his stance on the matter. Murkoff had opened his mind to many possibilities, exposed him to science so dicey and abnormal it almost appeared mystical at times. He’d learnt to except there would be many things he failed to understand, that were beyond his reasoning.  
  
But he did not believe in ghosts.

That should not change today.  
  
And yet Jeremy found himself staring at the little square of technology with some newfound apprehension. He’d confirmed that others could see the messages he’d been receiving, which made them real. Unless his madness had spiraled so far out of control that he’d conjured up the visit from Riley and Miles in some fever dream. This was a genuine concern of his at first, but his stomach was full and his skin still clean from the long overdue shower – physical tells of the event.  
  
Distantly he recalled something one of the patients of the asylum had frequently muttered as people passed. “How do you know you’re not a patient?” Jeremy had to admit that the sorry bastard had a point.  
  
As far as he knew reality extended to the perception of self. I exist therefor I am, or something along those lines. Rick had once taken a fancy to the idea, prattled on about it some afternoon in the office while Jeremy tried to work – in hindsight he wished he’d paid a bit more attention.  
  
Eventually he decided he was likely not imaginative enough to be this creative with his insanity, so likely it was real. Which presented Jeremy with an unsettling reality. Something was amiss and if it wasn’t his mind providing hallucinations – then something else was at play and he did not know what to make of it.  
  
Without the alcohol to muddle up his thoughts Jeremy couldn’t just shrug it off anymore. Couldn’t ignore how…unnatural everything was.  
  
As if prompted by his silent musing, the phone buzzed. The soft rattling of the phone against the wooden surface as a message came flying in startling Jeremy despite having almost been expecting it. After all, this was almost routine. A small, perhaps fearful part of Blaire did not want to answer the thing, but now he knew the messages were not just of his own mind he could not ignore them.  
  
Gingerly he picked the phone up; forcing himself to see what instruction he’d been sent this time. Only to find a question in their place.  
  
‘You weren’t scared were you?’  
  
“Scared?” Repeating the word aloud, Jeremy frowned as he failed to understand the question. A moment later the phone buzzed again, vibrating against his skin almost causing him to drop the blasted thing out of sheer fright.  
  
‘Walrider.’ It clarified. ‘They didn’t scare you earlier did they?’  
  
“Damn near gave me a heart attack.” He bit back, not sure if he was answering the question or accusing the phone for startling him.  
  
There was silence where Jeremy found he had been waiting for laughter. But of course the phone could not laugh, and more to the point they couldn’t have known he’d spoken at all. But still…he’d been expecting some kind of amusement for his answer.  
  
Sighing Jeremy was hit with another wave of frustration, tinged with just a hint of hysteria. He was treating a piece of technology as if it was actually listening to him.  
  
‘They meant well.’ The phone tells him and Jeremy imagines those words to hold a note of apology to them. ‘They’ll keep their distance next time.’  
  
And despite himself Jeremy shudders. “Next time?” He finds himself muttering, not wanting that thing back in their house again. The Walrider might have liked Sebastian just fine, but it never warmed to him and Blaire had no idea why it had suddenly changed its tune now.  
  
There’s a moment of silence and Blaire is not at all surprised when the message that comes through next is a command. ‘You’ve eaten, showered, slept and stopped drinking.’ It informs him as though he had any choice in the matter. ‘One last thing. You should speak to Waylon.’ A beat of silence and then one last thought. ‘You should go out.’  
  
Now Jeremy had left the house a few times already. He was accustomed to going on those short visits to the little corner store for supplies but the thought of genuinely leaving his tiny slice of the world sent a small shock through his system. He didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to step back outside and see how far the world had moved on without him. He did not want to rejoin it.  
  
As if able to sense his hesitation, the little screen lights up again. ‘Look after yourself.’ It tells him and Jeremy hates the thing in that moment.  
  
So for the first time since Riley barged his way into Jeremy’s home, he speaks a refusal to the screen. “No.”  
  
Its reaction is immediate and violent.  
  
The sudden jerk of motion as it goes buzzing startled Blaire initially but it is the sudden increase in the sound around him that sends him stumbling out of his seat and back a few paces. Putting distance between them even as the air surrounding him comes to life. The phone is rattling where it’s left on the table, violently shaking even though no new messages are appearing on its surface and what had previously been the usual low hum in the background came roaring to life, tearing into something wild and forceful.  
  
When the Walrider pulled itself into existence from within Miles’s body it brought with it a few constants, a mechanical whirl and a electricity that lit up the air. These were things Blaire knew well and nearly applied to the furious white noise that was filling up his head.  
  
But there were a few key differences between that and this. Primarily the Walrider did not have a voice.  
  
“You promised!”  
  
It could not be described as language, not really. It’s something in the static, printing words inside of his head without ever truly saying them out loud. But for its lack of words, he has no difficulty understanding its meaning and for a very short moment Blaire wonders if anyone else would have heard it were they there.  
  
Around him the pressure had only built higher, weighing down on his shoulders and every little injury it could find. Old and new, the force of the things anger seemed to find its way into every patch of weak flesh, digging deeper, punishing and vicious as the static roars.  
  
Surprisingly it is not the fresh cuts and abrasions haphazardly covered by his bandaids caused by his attempts to keep everything cleaner than they had been made, but old scars that hurt the most. When the invisible force pressed sharply against his side, where he knows the mark of a scissors cut to lie – Jeremy makes a sound.  
  
Pitiful, pained and barely above a whisper it’s quickly swallowed up by the pounding in his head and the shrieking ringing in his ears. Jeremy scarcely even heard it himself, wouldn’t have known the sound slipped out at all had he not been the one making it. But the small whine of pain that might have just held Sinclair’s name acts as an immediate stop to all the chaos around him.  
  
The air abruptly stills, goes deathly silent but does not fade. The tenseness in the air remains stationary, as though the imaginary force behind it has forgotten how to so much as breathe. Then agonizingly slowly it begins to recede, the points of pressure that had dug into his wounds gradually inched away and Jeremy swears that for just a moment they felt like fingers passing over his skin. The howling quiets down, becoming a soft droning. Not the usual hum or buzz it would sometimes produce when Blaire managed to feed himself or get to bed at a reasonable hour. It’s a painful sound, like some injured mutt’s whining.  
  
For a second Jeremy has the urge to hush it, tell the damnable thing to stop being so miserable but the words never get free. He’s too busy drawing air back into his lungs. Even with the once punishing force now abated, Jeremy does not uncurl from where he’d stilled on the ground. He’s almost waiting for the final shoe to drop, for some kind of pain to return.  
  
He’s waiting and is disappointed when it does not.  
  
Then just as his mind is returning to him, he feels a slight pressure against his back. It’s icy and the shock of it against him easily traveled through the fabric of his shirt, chilling his skin. But Jeremy didn’t try to shy away, scared that if he so much as took a breath too deeply he’d shatter this particular illusion as the sensation of arms winding around his back encircles him.  
  
At first all Jeremy can think in that moment is that he’d rather be crazy than risk breaking from that cold embrace. Then his mind shifts if only slightly and despite his fear of destroying the delusion, he speaks. “Why aren’t you hurting me?” He did not know those were the words he’d speak until he’d said them.  
  
The pressure against his spine jumps, shifts and turns ridged in rapid succession. Surprised at a guess. Then irritated Jeremy decides as the droning hitches up a pitch.  
  
Complaining again.  
  
Despite himself Jeremy laughs. The sound breaks apart quickly, falling into some kind of dry sob. He still cannot make himself cry but this might be the closest he’s come to it. Upon hearing that dismal little sound, the pressure curls in closer around him.  
  
They stay there for quite some time. Jeremy unwilling to move and break the contact and the imagined presence with nothing but time to spare. He knows it will soon bother him again, coming back with demands that he continue to live properly once it deems his actions inadequate. But for this moment it is still and has become mostly quiet, a moment of peace before the nagging can begin anew.  
  
“I don’t believe in ghosts.” Jeremy tells it after a few seconds of silence have passed.  
  
He chalks it up to his own insanity when the thing at his back shakes just a bit - laughter.  
  
…  
…  
  
Really the act of learning to live with the thing was the easy part.  
  
Giving up was the first step.  
  
When it told him to eat, Jeremy would dutifully go and grab some bread. If it became particularly antsy he’d go so far as to eat some fruits or even toast the bread. He could feel it seething quietly with dissatisfaction on most days, but once he’d eaten it usually relented. Compromising for the time being.  
  
If it told him to go to bed, he usually went. If he failed to make it to the bedroom he was never surprised when he woke up there regardless. However the first time he decided to spite the thing and sleep on the lounge on purpose, just to give it the chore of moving him, he found that while it did not like letting him sleep anywhere but the bed, it had no reservations when it came to locking him inside of his own room. The handle far too cold to even attempt touching. Punishment for his immaturity he supposed.  
  
Begrudgingly he’d even ventured out a little further away from the house after their initial spat. Although it was only an extra block and he quickly returned home the moment he felt he’d done enough to stave off the thing’s demands a little longer.  
  
There was only one request he still denied the thing.  
  
“I will not.” He spoke aloud, having gotten used to addressing the empty air. Again the phone buzzed insistently in his pocket and Jeremy did not even bother to check its screen, able to guess what it would be saying. He readily denied it. “I’m not speaking to Waylon. Twist my arm all you like, you’ll get nothing.”  
  
For a moment Jeremy swore that it might just do that. He damn near wished it would.  
  
The thing had not touched him once after that first outburst. Sometimes he swore he could feel something skirting around him or swear the air shifted that little bit – but he was never touched again. Part of him was irritated by that. He kept waiting for it to hurt him, to drive deeper than it had the first time. To tear him apart.  
  
A punishment that never came. It was maddening.  
  
As the cold phone shrilly beeped in protest, Blaire busied his hands with the floor. It never looked clean enough despite his labours. “Damn thing…” He groused, scrubbing at a particular patch that just looked…off. As if it was a slightly different shade to the rest of the pearly surface.  
  
Eventually his frustration with the floor extended to the phone as it continued to wail. Snarling under his breath Jeremy whipped it out of his pocket and found a series of angry three sentence messages. He scrolled through them with little interest to the final one. “You can’t do that!” He announced sharply, horrified when he read the text that claimed the thing would message Waylon for him if he didn’t cave in. “You cant do that.” He repeated, a little more uncertain now. “Can you?”  
  
Cheekily the response came back. ‘Want to test it?’  
  
He did not.  
  
Scowling Jeremy’s eyes shifted between the message and his waiting inbox. No doubt Waylon had texted him at least once last he checked. It wouldn’t be hard…he’d only have to send back one word to keep the thing satisfied he bet.  
  
But…  
  
“I won’t.” He muttered, stuffing the phone away without awaiting an answer. Then in a moment of honesty he could have done without, Jeremy added. “I can’t.”  
  
He expects an immediate rebuttal and is met with silence. This is perhaps more concerning and Jeremy shifts uncomfortably when the phone fails to go off again. He knows a moment later that this is because something in his words has driven his new, unseen housemate to knock things up a gear.  
  
It still does not touch him. Jeremy finds this unsatisfying but he can feel it there all the same. Standing at his side as he remains kneeling on the soapy floor, waiting for it to do something. It does not shriek or set words aflame inside his head as it had the last time and instead the bodiless sensation gradually lowers. Sitting next to him, Jeremy realizes.  
  
For a while that’s all it does. Sitting there, making Jeremy more restless the longer it remains at ease until finally it pulls a response from him. “What?” Jeremy demands coldly. “No more nagging? Going to wait me into submission you know you’ve never been good at silen--”  
  
He stops.  
  
Jeremy feels a chill rush down his spine as he relays his own impulsive words back in his head. Realises what he’d been about to say and in the same moment a wave of self-loathing rolls through him.  
  
How stupid of him.  
  
“Whatever.” Jeremy mutters instead, letting the thoughts die before they can twist out of control. Before they can become something ugly and hopeful in the same breath.  
  
Before he accidentally stains even the memory of that idiot.  
  
Deciding perhaps he can sate the thing by having a shower and forgetting this little hiccup Jeremy rises to his feet. On the long list of things that are not clean, he supposes he must rank somewhere on the top. For a moment his eyes drift to the bathroom and Jeremy finds himself wondering just how messy it might have been if he took something sharp and tried to blot out the higher ranking things on that list.  
  
Perhaps he would have but Jeremy knows he’d never make the cut cleanly enough and the mess he’d leave in the wake of his clumsy handiwork would be monstrous. There was no knife sharp enough, letter opener close enough or pair of scissors he’d be brave enough to use that would make the job a clean one.  
  
So the thought is discarded for the time being. Maybe tomorrow when he considers once again the validity of a blade, he’ll think the mess worth the end result.  
  
He’s not surprised when the thing in the air begins to create a shrill sound, some kind of instinctual reaction to that train of thought. It might know and maybe it also did not like the idea of the mess he’d leave behind.  
  
Blaire ignores it. Fully intending to leave this entire one-sided conversation behind them. But as always it is a persistent, infuriating little shit and cannot give him that easy escape. It’s crying pitched higher, louder, grating inside of his ears until he can no longer ignore it.  
  
“Don’t whine at me!” Jeremy snapped the moment the telltale high-pitched drone began to cause his skin to crawl, whirling on the empty space where he thought the thing to be sitting, with a newfound temper. “You’re not real. Whatever you are, real sure as shit isn’t it! So don’t come complaining to me when you don’t get every little thing you want. Not after all this shit. Not after he was the one that left me!”  
  
Without even meaning to do so, Jeremy had said it. Solidified his traitorous thoughts in a single angered shout. He could not take it back now or deny what he’d been thinking since the first message appeared on his phone. That stupid little thought that had been buried away in the back of his mind for weeks.  
  
“You’re not a ghost, you’re not him!”  
  
Because that’s what he’d been hoping for wasn’t it? Some pathetic, weak part of him had hoped that it wasn’t just his broken mind doing this. That somehow it was real and that impossibly it was exactly who he wanted it to be. His own desperation was only going to drag Sinclair’s memory through the mud further.  
  
Hadn’t he done enough already?  
  
But still he was speaking. Those bottled up thoughts, hopes, fear, all overflowing from his mouth as he begins to crack under the pressure. The weight of losing something he’d never truly had hitting him all over again.  
  
“And if you were him I’d fucking tell him how much I hate his guts!” Jeremy continued, shouting as if he still had someone there to shout over. “I’d tell him he’s a lying little bastard. I’d tell him that he’s fucking selfish, that he had no right to take me along for this ride. He knew from day one what was happening and he never said a damn thing, and I—fuck—I believed that little shit when he said he was coming back.”  
  
The louder his words get, the more that imagined presence seemed to shrink, curling back away from Jeremy as all his anger came bubbling out. All those words he never got to say, couldn’t say.  
  
That was the price of anger at the dead – most of it would never get said.  
  
“And what’s worse?” Jeremy continued, vicious and unrelenting in that moment of weakness. “What’s worse is that everyone expects me to be mourning. Waylon expects me to cry, fucking Lisa expects me to be grieving with them, but why should I be the one that has to miss him? Why am I the one that has to feel hurt? You’re the one that left without a damn word; you were the monster in this story – not me!”  
  
Those weeks spent watching Sebastian work himself till he couldn’t stand anymore. All those weeks knowing something was wrong and somehow he’d still been shocked by the depth of Sebastian’s cruelty.  
  
Cruelty he’d dressed up as a kindness that was still somehow more heartless than Blaire’s had ever been.  
  
He’d started to shake, fingers clenching so tightly that he’d reopened the little cuts on his knuckles. Once he realised he’d dripped blood onto the tiles he’d be regretful but in that moment he couldn’t have cared less. “Why should I be the one with a heavy heart? I did everything right, just once in my whole miserable life I did everything right.”  
  
I was better. I was good.  
  
“But you still…why the fuck did you lie to me?” There was more to it than the lie, but somehow it was that thought that felt the most unjust to him.  
  
After everything, how was there any room left for lies between them?  
  
They’d ripped one another apart. Tearing out any dark corner or crevice of their thoughts in which they might have been able to conceal a lie. Inside and out, they knew one another better than their own minds and somehow Sebastian had found a way to hide himself from Blaire again. To keep a secret after having left everything they were so open and raw for such a long time. Perhaps it was Jeremy’s certainty that they understood each other that lead him to be so easily deceived to. He knew this was how Sebastian must have felt, the first time Jeremy truly smiled at him as he tore out his heart. It was gut wrenching and unexpected for someone who had inherently trusted everyone but it was no less agonizing for a man that had never before genuinely trusted another soul.  
  
But even this was not the worst of Sebastian’s slights against him. The worst of it came out in one final, anger-blinded question.  
  
“Why did you leave me!?”  
  
It touched him again.  
  
Jeremy startled, not having noticed the thing getting so close until its gentle hands encased his trembling fists. Cold, too similar to what he wanted. Jeremy wrenched his hands away, retreating from the unseen figure as quickly as his shaky legs will allow. “Don’t.” He means for it to come out as a shout but the word breaks too quickly as his voice trembles. “You’re not…you can’t be…”  
  
It does not follow him but Jeremy can feel the thing watching him, its concern is nearly overwhelming. It almost feels like how Waylon had looked at him that final day at the hospital. It’s too much and Jeremy recoils from it. Wishing that this thing would leave him in peace again, wishing it would vanish and stop making him face the things he didn’t want to think about.  
  
But then he’d be alone again.  
  
That single thought coils unpleasantly in his chest and Jeremy knows that he has no idea what he really wants. For the thing to be gone, taking all its comfort and clarity with it or for it to stay, forcing Jeremy to think and feel things he’d long since tried to abandon. He does not know what he wants.  
  
“Jeremy…?”  
  
That. That is what he wants.  
  
For a moment Blaire cannot process the sound of his own name being spoken. It fails to hold any meaning for those few seconds that his mind shuts down. Then gradually as he reboots, the meaning returns.  
  
That was his name, not only that, but that was his name being said by a voice he recognized. Nearly four years to the day and it sounded exactly the same – Jeremy had not forgotten even the slightest inflection of Sebastian’s voice. He recognized it now without even needing to try.  
  
Slowly, almost reluctant to actually do so, Jeremy raises his head. Drops his hunched shoulders and looks towards the source of his name. He is unsure what he’d been expecting, but it seems appropriate that when he sees in front of him does not look alive. Not in any sense of the word. Try as he might Jeremy cannot place the luminescence shape for more than a few seconds at a time. His mind manages to make out what it should be but it is never solid, always shifting and blurring out of the world. It’s as though he’s trying to piece together a familiar image under the surface of a disturbed body of water – he knows what it should be and can see hints of something recognizable in it, but never enough to feel real.  
  
Perhaps the only thing that settles for any considerable stretch of time is the thing’s eyes. They stay nearly constantly as everything about the shape swims in and out of existence at will, the gaze staring back at him are blank, a flat dead light shinning through the dimly lit room.  
  
Reasonably he should be afraid. Should be as terrified as he was the first time Walrider tore its way into his life and through his body. No one would be surprised had he run from that house, shrieking like some mad wounded animal.  
  
But he knows that far away gaze.  
  
The hatred returns.  
  
“No.” He bites out sharply, watching as the thing he has come to expect no visual form from recoils at the heat behind the word. “No. You have no right. All that shit you harped on about, telling me to look after myself all the damn time, then you go and die on me? Now you have the nerve to…god I don’t even know what the fuck you are now, but isn’t that just so god damn like you? Doing whatever the hell you want up there on your moral high horse. Leaving the rest of us to pick up the damn pieces. You left us you selfish piece of shit! You left us.”  
  
Once some of the rage abates Jeremy takes stock of the thing’s position. It’s pitiful really, sat upon the ground with what he guesses might be its legs jammed up into itself. Like a child trying to make itself as small and non-offensive as possible so as to avoid drawing attention onto itself.  
  
Seeing the fluid figure curled on the ground, cramming itself back into the corner like that has no reason to cause Jeremy grief. But as it curls in tighter on itself at the sound of his anger, Jeremy hesitates. Then after a moment he manages to speak again with less venom on his tongue.  
  
“You stupid bastard…did you seriously think I’d be okay with this? When I never gave you permission to…”  
  
It’s shaking. Jeremy hadn’t noticed at first because of how it flittered in and out of view. Patches of what he gradually made out as its body under the writing layers of light turning bright and dark sporadically, running across its stretched limbs in small waves. Shivering. It’s cold.  
  
This idiot.  
  
He hardly cares if he’s crazy or not. If this is all in his head or not, because at least for him, through his eyes, it is real. Jeremy sinks down to his knees in front of the thing he still will not call by name.  
  
“Why didn’t you let us help you?” He asks quietly, tone torn between some deep seeded sadness and genuine confusion. “You were the one that always talked about helping each other…” Distantly he recalls Waylon having made comment on Sebastian’s flawed way of thinking and sighed. “Did you really think none of us thought of you?”  
  
The thing balled up in front of him does not inspire the same irritation or fear as the invisible force that plagued the house those few weeks. It is small, fragile and vulnerable as it looks up at him with those white eyes. Not at all like the pestering hum or forceful nudge that urged him to eat right and sleep on time.  
  
This too Jeremy supposes makes sense. Sebastian had never been just one face when alive – why should that change once he ceased to be so?  
  
As such he’s not at all surprised when the trembling thing inches towards him. Hesitant, reaching out only to withdraw it’s lithe fingers to look up into his face searching for some chastising word no doubt. Jeremy provides none and instead makes a small gesture for it to come in closer despite not being sure what would happen if it touched him.  
  
He expects it to be icy but when the little ball of quivering shimmering lights eagerly presses into him he is unprepared for how abruptly the glacial sensation hits him. Within seconds it’s drawing all the warmth from his flesh, chilling his very bones. But the thing nuzzles into him, snaking fingers catching at his sleeves as it buries itself into him, trying to hide in his arms and Jeremy cannot bring himself to remove it even as he lets out an frosty puff of air when he laughs.  
  
There’s no heat left to put a bite into his words when he next speaks. “Upgraded from hands to the whole shebang have we?” For his words Jeremy is rewarded with little more than a whine in the air and the thing huddling into him more closely.  
  
But no matter how tightly it balls up against his chest, the thing becomes no warmer. It takes the heat from his skin bit by bit, but none of it warms the thing in return. Troubled by this Jeremy frowns and attempts to encircle his arms around the barely corporeal creature.  
  
Just as he’s beginning to try and think of ways to fix this, Jeremy notices that it’s little flickering lights are becoming less and less frequent. Not as a result of it no longer being cold, but instead it seemed to be blinking out of existence. With nothing else at his disposal Jeremy falls back onto a true and tried weapon of his, words.  
  
“I didn’t want the heater fixed or the roof retiled.” He tells it quickly and feels the thing shift in his arms, it’s attention once again grabbed before it could fade away. He goes on. “I didn’t need you to blunt every sharp edge or protect me. I didn’t want that. I wanted you to be there. I wanted you to still be with me.”  
  
The form under his fingers feels physical now. Solidifying with every word and Jeremy thinks he knows what it needs to finally settle and stop that shaking. But he is unsure if he can say it.  
  
Saying the thing’s name aloud feels…like it might be too much. Like it might somehow make everything too real.  
  
Scared of what might happen should he speak, but terrified of what will happen if he doesn’t, Jeremy curls his arms tighter around the little thing’s shoulders. “I fucking hate you…Sebastian.”  
  
He feels the final shiver like a tiny shock of electricity across his arms. The frozen touch of the thing dims and Jeremy can feel the blood in his veins warming just a fraction, bleeding heat over into the cold shape against him. Then quietly the air around his lights up with sound again. Not a drone or a buzz or a wail, but instead laughter.  
  
His laughter is the most amazing thing that Jeremy has heard in years. And he’s laughing a little bit too as he buries his face into a warming shoulder, unconcerned by its barely physical shape. Saying the words again simply because there's no other way to express the things he is currently experiencing. “I fucking hate you, Sebastian.”  
  
When the thing that he has given name hums a happy wordless response into the air, Jeremy thinks is sounds suspiciously like he means to convey the other one.  
  
…  
…  
  
“Jackie!” Waylon was sure he’d called for his son fifteen times by now. “Jackie are you up yet?” He knows he sounds frantic but…well hell he is. “Jack if you’re not down those stairs in five minutes I’m going to--!” The threat dies in his throat as Lisa slides in front of him, putting a halt to his raving with a finger against his chest and a teasing smile.  
  
“Honey.” He murmurs chastising her panicked husband as gently as she can muster. “You’ll never get him to do anything with that tone, you know how young men are.”  
  
How did his son get to graduation so fast?  
  
“I was never so tardy.” And when Lisa smirks at him next its only to call him on that little fib. A good twenty years extra experience and he still failed to be on time most days, a trait Lisa was frustrated he’d managed to pass onto both their sons. Although Noel did manage to get to most places on time, Jackie almost never could.  
  
With that smile as call enough on his bluff Waylon fell silent and obediently waited for Lisa to finish fixing the mess of a knot he’d done on his tie. Distantly Waylon remembered having only been the second worst knot tier when stressed in their little group. Although now days there was not much of a group to speak of. “Have you heard from Miles?” He heard Lisa asking but it takes a few seconds for the meaning to settle in.  
  
It’s wrong, he supposes, to let his mind wander to such gloomy areas on a day such as this. There should only be room for celebration.  
  
“About as much as you’d expect.” Waylon mumbles, not bothering to curb his exasperation with the former reporter. “Can’t Riley be in charge of the phone again?” He whined, as though Lisa had control of that particular aspect of the two men’s lives.  
  
Again she tosses him that chastising glance and then much more tenderly presses a finger to his lips. “You’re stressing.” Lisa tells him gently, her eyes soft with understanding but not without the promise of a bit of tough love should he not get his head straight before their sons come clambering down those steps. “Don’t. Graduation is not the end of childhood.”  
  
No, Waylon thinks quickly, next it’ll be college and then moving out and then—oh. He is panicking.  
  
Letting out a heavy sigh Waylon manages a weak nod. A kind of resignation followed quickly by a sheepish smile. “Just a little nervous.” Which is funny because he’s not the one graduating form high school.  
  
Speak of the devil.  
  
Waylon hears Jackie before he sees him. The messily put together teenager came hurtling around the corner of the second floor and very nearly lost his footing on the steps. He might not have been as anxious as his father but he was no less disorderly when excited. The beaming grin on his face was testament to just how eager he was. “Careful on the stairs, young man!” Waylon snaps to no avail, Jackie had cleared the final four steps in one bound and very nearly went skidding past both his parents in his haste.  
  
Lisa turns her attention to him almost immediately and completely ignores Waylon’s fussing bouncing off of Jackie’s boisterous excitement in favor of fixing up her son’s own attire. Eventually Noel joins with the three and Lisa only glances to her youngest boy to be satisfied with how he’d put himself together. While Jackie and Waylon are still bickering, their eldest son’s complaining not nearly as heated as it usually was, Lisa took a moment to smile at Noel. “You took your time.” She noted, a little suspicious. Noel was not the type to be distracted by social media but she’d seen him staring at his phone earlier.  
  
“Just organizing things.” Noel answered easily, fingers brushing through his fringe. “Organizing this.” He added a little more bitterly, he’d never gotten over the fact he’d inherited Waylon’s unruly fluff for hair.  
  
“Well I wish your father and brother would take more time in the mirror. You look dashing, Noel.” Then, just because her motherly instinct feels incomplete without doing so, Lisa brushes imaginary dust from Noel’s jacket shoulders.  
  
He likely knows this and does not utter a single complaint, instead smiling shyly and murmuring a quiet. “Thanks mum.”  
  
Pleased Lisa nods before glancing back at her other two boys with a roll of her eyes. “Come on you two.” She breaks into their petty arguments carelessly. “You have the rest of your lives to argue, lets pass the high school stage at least.”  
  
Jackie is more than happy to oblige, leaving his exasperated father in the doorway as he bounces out to the car, Noel trailing tiredly after him. Likely he’ll be more indulgent of Jackie today, but Noel’s patience with his loud older brother only goes so far. Lisa dearly hopes they don’t use it all on the car ride over to the venue.  
  
Uttering a quiet assurance to Waylon, Lisa slips away from her husband but does not immediately go for the car. Instead she pauses just a small distance away and checks her phone.  
  
It had been quite some time since she last even attempted a message like this, but when Miles and Riley last visited for Noel’s birthday, she’d been surprised by what they had to say. Granted they had not seen them in some months but Miles had enthusiastically recounted and unusual dinner they’d had not long ago.  
  
She hadn’t believed them at first but…well she supposed there was nothing to lose in this one final invitation.  
  
But it would be the last.  
  
Graduation, Jackie thought, was not nearly as entertaining as he’d expected it to be.  
  
School was a droll experience that he would have done without if he had the choice. But it was over now and after so many years Jackie was beginning to feel a bit nervous. The lights of the hall were harsh and while Jackie knew if he looked to the person sitting at his side he’d be able to see their expression he did not dare. Similarly he knew that he could have made out some of the faces in the crowd of parents and gathered relatives but Jackie couldn’t manage to even find his own parent’s faces. Too nervous to do anything other than kick his foot ceaselessly and drum a finger against his leg.  
  
Up at the podium their principle was speaking. Nothing he didn’t expect to hear but made more significant by the fact that this time it was directed at him and his peers. It marked the end and Jackie was now so nervous that he couldn't even be excited.  
  
Suddenly it felt like every little concern he’d had about the future was all coming to a head. College or a job, would his marks be enough or could he follow passions instead. Jackie knew he was panicking; maybe not quite as bad as he father usually did but panicked nonetheless.  
  
He was standing on the stage because he’d earned his place there. Maybe not as hard a worker as he should have been, but talented and passionate about those few things he was good at. It had been enough in school but he was hesitant to think it would be enough out there.  
  
Just as Jackie felt sure he’d break out in a cold sweat right there in front of everyone, he felt a little tug at his shoelace. A familiar feeling. His kneejerk reaction as to look but Jackie knew better than to be so obvious and so after a moment spent composing himself Jackie risked a glance down and sure enough there pooling around his shoe was a little living shadow. The Walrider had become surprisingly dexterous in what it could do with its body those past two years.  
  
Seeing the shadow creature here and realising that meant somewhere Miles, and by extension Riley, would be in the crowd helped calm Jackie. Knowing his family was out there, proud and supporting him…it helped more than he could possibly say.  
  
Mustering a thankful smile he faced the blaring lights again and grinned once his name was called. It was only a slip of paper but the firm handshake he received from the principle and the slight weight of his high school certificate in his other hand felt as though it was the most important thing in the world.  
  
And once he was ushered off stage his mother was there to wrap him up in the tightest hug he could remember her giving him. His dad looked like he was trying not to cry and failing and sure enough there was both Miles and Riley waiting with ready smiles of their own.  
  
“Look at you, kid!” Miles remarked once Lisa had released him from her death grip. “All grown up and ready to take the world by storm are we? Hey, just between you and me you’d make one hell of a freelance reporter, I’d say--”  
  
“Well you shouldn’t, shut up Miles.” Riley cut in gruffly, knocking his friend on the back of the head before turning back to Jackie with a small smile of his own. The one armed man had scared Jackie so much as a kid, now if anything he was nothing other than in awe of him. Difficult not to be when he only had one hand and could still do twice as many push-ups as Jackie could. “Well done, Jackie.” He offered praise more gently and in fewer words than Miles did but it was no less heartfelt.  
  
He was no crier, not like his dad who was still stifling tears as he went red in the face, but even Jackie was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed. It did not help in the slightest when Noel came up besides him with secretive little smile. “Feeling okay, Jackie?”  
  
He knew it was meant only as a casual teasing but at that exact moment it felt far too sentimental and Jackie choked on his answer. “Yeah, shut up, Noel.” When his little brother laughed at his miserable attempt at a retort, Jackie ended up laughing right along with him. Once the initial conversation with his family was finished, Jackie briefly exchanged excited chatter with some of his friends, passing between talking to his peers and his family.  
  
Before long he was getting a little lost in the sea of faces he’d known for years and a few he’d never really gotten to know well enough to be friends but on this last day was more than happy to talk with as though they had been.  
  
On that day he knew he’d be seeing plenty of people, some he hadn’t even glanced at in years. It was just how the transition out of highschool went according to Noel – who must surely know because he’d clearly done it before. Damn brat. Regardless of Noel’s know it all behavior, he had not been wrong on this occasion.  
  
But for all the faces he expected to see, this was not one of them.  
  
He was aware that he was staring but Jackie just couldn’t stop. Not to tear his eyes away or to react in any other way. He was stuck in place right up until the moment the older man smirked and said. “You know they told me you were bright, what’s this silence?”  
  
All those missed birthdays. All those months not knowing where he’d gone or if he was okay. Knowing that his father had been trying to contact the man, knowing that he was all-alone in that house.  
  
And all he could do was rush straight into his not-uncle’s arms and squeeze him for dear life.  
  
“You..” Jackie choked. “…bastard.”  
  
Blaire chuckled, sounding a little surprised by the language. “Now where did you pick that up? You sure as hell weren’t cursing last time I saw you, kid.”  
  
Jackie knew he was crying. He could feel the tears burning at the corners of his eyes and as penance he squeezed Blaire a little bit tightly, biting back a burst of laughter. “From you, you prick!” Part of him wanted to be angry, wanted to call the man out for his absence. He’d missed so much and then suddenly he was just here.

But…he was here.  
  
And for now that was all Jackie could think about. “Why…how?” He began to ask, wanting to ask a hundred different questions.  
  
Blaire, still smiling rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Well would you believe that all five of these idiots messaged me?” He remarked, gaze slipping over Jackie’s shoulder. He had not realised his family had gathered there until that moment. They stayed those few steps back, just giving Jackie this chance.  
  
Because he’d missed his not-uncle so damn much and they all knew it.  
  
“All of them?”  
  
“All of them.” Blaire confirmed grimly. “All of them and then some.” He added and Jackie could only describe the glint in Blaire’s eyes as mischievous however it was quickly replaced as he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small slip of worn paper. “That and your brother was rather adamant that I not break our contract.” Blaire continued, unfolding the old mock up contract Jackie remembered he and Noel making.  
  
Upon seeing it he groaned, turning a little pink in the face when he was shown his own writing. He’d been such a stupid brat, it was embarrassing that Jeremy had kept the thing. “Oh for god—give that back!” He demanded, reaching for the paper only for Jeremy to promptly pull it out of reach, clicking his tongue chidingly.  
  
“Not a chance, kid. This belongs to me now, although I’m sure Noel will print you off a copy.” Then, as if to apologize for his teasing. Jeremy put the contract away and instead held out a small box to Jackie. “Better late then never.” He supplied, his eyes turning just a little sad as he went on to say. “And I am sorry it is so late.”  
  
Jackie glanced at the box, wrapped up like a birthday present.  
  
All those missed years.  
  
Gingerly he took the box, it was unfairly light for something that sat so heavily on him. Jackie knew the gift was likely one bought a long time ago. Jeremy had always been well prepared with birthdays before Mr. Sinclair passed away, the gift would have been bought before the birthday was missed. Likely some toy or novelty that Jackie enjoyed, something to pester his father even more likely.

But…  
  
“I don’t want it.” Jackie mumbled, fingers tightening a little bit around the edges of the box, straining the wrapping paper.  
  
He knew he’d been heard by the others. Could practically feel their eyes on him, concerned or disapproving he didn’t care because he knew that Jeremy had heard him and was hurt by it. But he did not say anything in his defense instead Jackie heard the man muttering something along the lines of ‘that’s fair’ beginning to say something else that Jackie had no interest in hearing.  
  
“What I want.” Jackie began again, cutting cleanly through Jeremy’s words. Probably offering to leave, the exact opposite of what he wanted. “What I want is for you to stay.” He knew if he spoke any louder his words would crack, he’d sob, it’d be a mess but even so he forced the words out as best he could. “I want you to still be with us.”  
  
And when Jackie slowly looked back up to Jeremy’s face, he found the man staring at him as though he’d seen a ghost.  
  
Gradually that shell-shocked expression broke down and dissolved into a smile Jackie had never seen on Jeremy’s face before. His memory of the man that spent the weekends playing games with them and teaching him how to handle negative influences were filled with exasperation and cheeky smirks – not this look of overwhelming warmth.  
  
Then the man that was not his uncle released a heavy sigh and slipped his hands into his pockets, regarding Jackie with tired but sincere eyes. “If that’s what you want.”  
  
Unable to help himself Jackie wrapped Jeremy up in another bone crushing hug. Holding him as tight as he could, making up for lost time. Never mind that he was a young adult now and that they were in public and hugging family could be perceived as lame, Jackie didn’t care. This was hands down the best day of his school life – just as well because he never wanted to enter another classroom ever again.  
  
He only relinquished his hold, a beaming smile plastered on his face, when the rest of the family deemed the time right to approach. Jeremy turned, looking a touch more uneasy than he had when greeting Jackie. “Park,” He began, tone guarded as he eyed Waylon as if half expecting the man to throw a punch. “Been a while, still look ridiculous I se--” He didn’t get the chance to finish before the oldest Park boy lunged at him, nearly taking the unprepared man off his feet when he was dragged into yet another hug.  
  
“You selfish jackass!” Waylon cried and both Jackie and Noel took a moment to appreciate their father actually cursing. “You fucking…I hate you. You dick.” He continued to babble, squeezing Jeremy tightly as the man simply stood there working through his initial surprise.  
  
Then finally he huffed out a small chuckle and pat Waylon’s back with a lazy smirk. “Yeah, yeah, I’m the worst. I know.” He laughed and Waylon only began to sob harder, encouraging Jeremy to laugh that little bit harder. “Get off me you great oaf.” He snickered, giving Waylon a very short hug in return.  
  
Eventually he was released, looking a little more at ease after Waylon’s teary display. Although his smile was a touch apologetic when turned on Lisa. Jackie watched their mother size up Jeremy with a stern look and wondered if she’d actually let him stay. But of course she’d asked him to come as well. “About time you hermit.” She commented dryly. “Almost thought you’d died in that house of yours.”  
  
“Charming as always.”  
  
After that things moved a little more smoothly. Jeremy had to go through the process of talking to each of the other adults. Miles was particularly vicious with his teasing and Riley was less than friendly but none of them attempted to send him away. More than anything they all just seemed relieved he’d come and whatever lingering anger they harboured in regards to the rest of his behaviour was placed onto the back burner.  
  
It would be brought out again, but not today. Not right now when all that mattered was that the boys were happy their cranky, terrible influence of a babysitter was here.  
  
Jackie was able to clean his face up a bit, unwilling to admit he’d gotten his waterworks from his father. Noel was there at his side with some tissues of course and had he not always had them somewhere nearby Jackie would have thought he brought them specifically because he planned this.  
  
“Thanks.” He croaked quietly to Noel. “I…this means a lot to me. And—well thanks. I love you, bro.” Jackie was being extraordinarily heartfelt here, only for his little brother to smirk faintly and ask.  
  
“Do you want a copy of that contract?”  
  
“I take it back, I hate you.”  
  
The pair of them were still laughing when Miles called to them. The adult talk having mostly come to an end. “Come on you two!” He called, gesturing for them to march their butts over. “We’re going out for dinner, Blaire’s treat for being such a prick.” The bark of protest from the man in question said otherwise but Miles only snickered.  
  
Smiling Jackie went right away, following after the hazy outline of Walrider that lingered around Miles’s shadow. Sometimes it felt like he was the only one who saw the thing as clearly as Miles himself did. Noel hesitated only for a moment. His brother’s eyes were on the shadow following Miles around but Noel was watching the rest of them. He could have sworn for a moment the Walrider wasn't the only shadow following them.  
  
The thought crossed his mind and Noel smiled faintly before following after his brother. They’d long since gotten used to impossible things and Noel didn’t feel the need to question this one either. But it helped to know that none of them were really alone.  
  
When he rejoined the group Noel just caught the end of Jackie speaking to Blaire. Something about wanting him to come back to the house for a while. To Jackie’s credit he waited a whole five more seconds before cheekily continuing. “And a back pay of birthday presents.”  
  
In an instant Noel was at his side. “With interest.” He added with a short nod.  
  
Blaire groaned and rolled his eyes but did nothing to fight the little smile on his face. “I taught you too well.” He lamented with a hopeless shrug.  
  
This was good, he thought as the boys began listing off the things they wanted as he indulged them. This was so much better than he thought it could have been. After so long he’d forgotten. The things that they’d tried too hard to mend fell away and Jeremy could remember simple contentment. Nothing needed to be cleaned, no tile on the roof to be fixed and no nails to be placed.  
  
Just this felt like enough.  
  
“Hey!” Miles called, skipping out ahead of the group once they’d left the clamor of the school behind and were secluded enough for Miles to feel confident in his recklessness. “Say cheese kids.” He instructed, pulling a camera from his pocket one likely filled to the brim with pictures of the graduation. He propped it up to the right angle and Blaire heard himself remark on Miles and Waylon with their cameras, getting a harsh nudge to the ribs from Lisa in retaliation. If she’d truly meant to hurt him it would have bruised.  
  
Undeterred by Blaire’s snide comment, Miles set the camera to how he wanted it and rejoined the group quickly, allowing Walrider to keep the camera held steady in his place. Waylon began to protest Miles’s recklessness with letting Walrider wander around in daylight. Riley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose having given up trying to control the man. Lisa smiled indulgently and Jackie outright laughed. Noel focused more on the camera and getting a nice picture, moving over just an little leaving an empty space in the photo that must have been a last second mistake and Jeremy just smiled.  
  
He did not realise he’d even been smiling until he saw the photo that Miles presented them with.  
  
And he remembered a promise. “Send me that?” He asked Miles who was more than happy to oblige. Jeremy waited till the message had loaded on his phone and then nodded to himself with a satisfied smile. “Just needed one last photo.” He explained off handedly to Waylon who was giving him a curious look. “To finish a collection.”  
  
In his pocket the little silver phone hummed and Jeremy knows exactly what smile he would have worn.  


 


End file.
